


hell is a teenage girl

by Yilena



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, Demons, F/F, Fantasy, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27493867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yilena/pseuds/Yilena
Summary: Marinette and Chloé have been dancing around each other for years. After kissing during an argument, Chloé returns home covered in blood, convinced that her body's cursed. It's Marinette's kisses that help to cure her. AU.(the wholesome jennifer's body au that's entirely gay.)
Relationships: Chloé Bourgeois/Marinette Dupain-Cheng
Comments: 10
Kudos: 145





	hell is a teenage girl

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to my _jennifer's body_ au!! the original plan was to follow the movie's plot a little bit more and wander off from there, but i've only taken the concept of chloé being attacked and turned into something supernatural and the romantic undertones of jennifer/needy's relationship. for the idea coming from a horror film, this fic is surprisingly sweet and murder free.
> 
> \- ̗̀art ̖́- [salty](https://salty-french-fry.tumblr.com/post/634464240575692800).

_Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

“No, that doesn't suit you,” Chloé said, adjusting the shirt before pulling a face. “It makes you look frumpy. And you know that trying to show cleavage doesn't work when you look like a teenage boy.”

Marinette sighed. “But you picked this out.”

“I picked it out expecting you to look good,” Chloé pointed out, taking ahold of Marinette's shirt and pulling it over her head, leaving her in her bra. “It's not my fault that you don't live up to my standards.”

Another shirt was thrown at her face.

“Try that on,” Chloé demanded.

“This one is also low-cut—”

“Why do you have so many if they don't suit you?” Chloé scoffed before taking it back, opening up the drawer and making a mess of the neatly folded clothes before she found one that struck her interest. “This might be better. Flutter your big eyes and go for the innocent look to get free drinks, yeah?”

She made a point of sighing again. “I told you I don't want to do this.”

“And I'm not listening,” Chloé answered, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “It's either you come out or I'll bring everyone back here so you can't sleep. This is the better choice, yeah?”

“I promised that I'd be responsible—”

“Your parents aren't expecting you to be a nun,” Chloé retorted. “Come on, live a little! We finally left that boring ass town. It's time to celebrate.”

“What?” she questioned. “You don't even like to drink.”

“I don't like to look sloppy,” Chloé said, gesturing to her face. “It's a waste of time if I don't feel as good as I look, you know?”

Marinette obediently put the new piece of clothing on, taking off her trousers when it became clear that it was a dress. And when Chloé passed her a pair of boots, she put them on without worrying that she'd mess up the new carpet—the shoes were a pair she'd never been able to wear out before under her parents' noses.

It felt a little odd to wear heels.

After a moment, Chloé proclaimed, “It's a bit boring, but it's you.”

She smoothed out her dress. “Is that a compliment?”

“I'll always compliment you if you cover your chest,” Chloé said, reaching out and patting her cheek in an entirely mocking way. “Save that for when you're in your pyjamas.”

She frowned. “My _pyjamas_?”

“Because you like wearing the loose ones?” Chloé mused. “And when you lean over, I can see—”

“Okay, that's enough!” Marinette exclaimed, slapping away Chloé's hand with her face starting to feel hot. “Can we stop talking about my boobs? It's making me feel uncomfortable.”

“Why are you embarrassed?” Chloé questioned, leaning down until they were almost face-to-face despite their height difference. “I'm very familiar with them. I was there the whole time when they grew.”

She snorted. “Like that makes me feel any better.”

“Well, it should,” Chloé said, narrowing her eyes. “We promised to always share everything.”

“I'm sharing my feelings that you're too close,” she lamely replied, pushing Chloé away by her shoulders. There wasn't any resistance. “I'll only come to the nightclub for a while, okay? I don't want to be hungover for classes tomorrow.”

There was fondness in Chloé's voice as she accused, “You're such a nerd.”

“Well, one of us has to be,” she muttered. “You're terrible at studying.”

“I like it when you explain things to me,” Chloé said, gesturing for her to turn around before starting to do the button up at the top of Marinette's dress. “You're better than any teacher I've ever had.”

She had to point out, “We've had the same teachers.”

“Maybe that's why,” Chloé mused. “I'm more inclined to listen when it's from a pretty face.”

Marinette rebutted, “You called me boring just now.”

“You are rather plain,” Chloé agreed with a laugh. “But that's your charm, I think. Some people are into that.”

She adjusted the collar around her neck. “People like you that want all the spotlight.”

“I do like attention,” Chloé said, fingernails pressing against Marinette's neck as she started to style her hair into something acceptable for going out. “But I like spending time with you, too.”

She swallowed. “Well, yeah. That's why we're living together.”

“All right, roomie,” Chloé teased, pulling a bit harshly and causing her to wince. “If you bring anyone back here, I'll kill you, you understand?”

“I thought the whole point of going out was to get me to socialise,” she muttered.

“But not taint our special place,” Chloé corrected matter-of-factly. “I'm paying more than half the rent, so you have to listen to me.”

“You bullied me into this—”

“Would you prefer to live in the same dorms as everyone else?” Chloé questioned, making a disgusted noise. “Who knows when those rooms were properly cleaned last. No, I'm not letting you suffer through that. You deserve to have nice things.”

Marinette laughed. “Are you the nice thing in this scenario?”

She didn't need to turn around to know Chloé was smiling. “Oh, I'm more than nice.”

With a hum, she replied unconvinced, “I'm sure.”

The night went as well as she'd expected. The apartment they were living in was near to the city centre, close by to the university and the shops with all the things they needed, and it was a wonder that she was able to afford to live in such a place in the first place. Marinette had been resigned to having multiple room-mates to share a dorm with, but that wasn't the case when her best friend was so rich.

She was glad that Chloé's parents liked her.

The nightclub was loud, had dim lighting, and as soon as she had her first drink, Chloé had flittered off to socialise and talk to anyone that looked at her.

While Marinette was left there, standing awkwardly and feeling entirely out of place. For her first time in a nightclub, it didn't compare to the little pubs that their home town had; it was packed, the smell of everyone's cologne and perfume mixing together horribly, and she was sweating within minutes of being inside.

Chloé had told her not to wear tights, and she was suddenly thanking her for that.

Not for being left alone, though.

Marinette got out her phone, idly checking on social media instead of introducing herself to strangers. The discount for students and being within walking distance of other dormitories for the university meant that a good portion had to be people she'd maybe see in the future.

She hadn't met anyone else yet.

It felt like hours before Chloé came over, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and bringing her close. “What are you doing? I was looking for you _everywhere_.”

“I've barely moved since you ditched me,” she muttered.

“What?” Chloé exclaimed, leaning her head in closer so they were almost nose-to-nose. “You need to speak louder if you want me to actually hear your bitching.”

She huffed. “Why are you here?”

“To buy you another drink, of course.” Chloé's smile showed her teeth that she'd had whitened over the summer. “If you're feeling fancy, we could even do some shots. Anything you want, babe.”

“I want to go home,” she said.

Chloé laughed. “Other than that.”

Marinette took a pointed sip of her drink that was still half-full.

“Down it,” Chloé demanded, going as far as to touch the glass and try to tip it back. And when Marinette spluttered and took it away from her lips, Chloé tutted. “You're not getting into the spirit here.”

“Spirit?” she questioned, incredulous. “You _ditched_ me.”

“I got sidetracked,” Chloé replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You know what my attention span is like. You have to show me something shiny to keep my attention.”

She glared.

“I was thinking more like seeing you smile, but I'll take it,” Chloé said, taking Marinette's drink out of her hand and finishing it in a single gulp. Then, after pulling a face from the burn of the alcohol, Chloé told her, “You look hot when you're mad.”

She spluttered, “I'm not mad.”

“No?” Chloé asked, touching Marinette's cheek with her free hand, swiping her thumb underneath her eye where there could've been smudged make-up. “You look like you're going to throw a tantrum because I took away your favourite toy.”

Marinette blinked.

“Me,” Chloé clarified with the audacity to have a smug smile. “I'm the favourite toy.”

“I'm not mad,” she insisted, pulling back away from Chloé's touch. “But you—I knew this would happen. You always get distracted and I'm left awkwardly in the corner because I'm too socially awkward to talk to strangers.”

Chloé laughed. “Just like all our school dances, right?”

“Don't laugh!” she exclaimed, her face starting to feel hot. “I'm serious, this—this isn't any fun.”

“Well, let's have you some fun,” Chloé proposed, holding out her hand and making it clear that she wanted Marinette to take it. “I'm not going to leave any time soon. I want to see you smile first.”

She sniffed. “I'm not going to smile.”

“We'll see,” Chloé teased.

Against her better judgement, she took Chloé's hand.

And instead of taking her to the bar for another drink, Chloé discarded the glass on their way to where everyone was dancing, starting to tug Marinette through other people before realising that it was her worst nightmare to be sandwiched between strangers. After changing course to the outskirts, Chloé made a point of taking both of her hands in hers as they faced each other.

“What are you doing?” Marinette asked.

“Bringing you back to those school dances more,” Chloé announced, putting her hands on Marinette's waist. “Is this PG enough for your tastes?”

She wrapped her arms around Chloé's shoulders and laughed. “This is silly.”

“No, you are,” Chloé accused, no heat to her words. “But if this stupid thing makes you smile, I'll do it until you tell me to fuck off.”

Then, as if to push the point further, Chloé made it so they were awkwardly swaying on the spot to the music that had a pounding bass. The dancing wasn't graceful in the slightest; Marinette almost stood on Chloé's feet when they stared to move slightly and managed to clumsily bump her forehead against Chloé's chin.

Chloé fondly remarked, “You're so fucking clumsy.”

She ducked her head. “Shut up.”

“How would you even function without me?” Chloé mused, not really expecting an answer. “You're what you are because of me, you know.”

“You're just complimenting yourself too much now,” she muttered.

“You should be complimenting everything I do,” Chloé retorted, adjusting her grip on Marinette's waist. “I wouldn't do this with anyone else.”

From the thinness of the dress, she could feel the heat from Chloé's hands.

“Is that supposed to make me feel special?” she asked.

Chloé scoffed. “I'm the special one of us two.”

“You're really up yourself, you know?” she replied, amused. “It's like your fatal flaw. You can't imagine that anyone can't be into you.”

“What's not to like?” Chloé answered. “I'm hot and I'm a bitch. Isn't that what everyone wants?”

“...No, it's not,” she said slowly.

“Clearly it's what you want,” Chloé answered back with a smug grin, hands smoothing over Marinette's hips before they went back to holding her waist in a more innocent way. “Why else would you have stuck around me for so long?”

“Because we've been friends since nursery?” she wryly replied.

Chloé snorted. “People break up all the time.”

“You telling me to break up with you?” Marinette questioned, lifting her head up to look into her eyes. “Because I might end up homeless if I do that so soon.”

“Wait until the end of the year,” Chloé proposed, smile showing her teeth as she leaned in enough to bump the end of her nose against hers. It was such a childish move, fitting in with their ridiculous dance at the edge of the room that didn't look like it belonged when the majority of the club seemed to be drunk. “I'll drive you mad until then.”

She breathed out. “You drive me mad already.”

“Mad enough to turn you to drink?”

“We're not even near the bar!” she exclaimed.

“It was worth a try,” Chloé muttered, close enough to be heard over the music. “You don't look like you're suffering right now. I thought this was your worst nightmare?”

Marinette glared. “You're worse than anything else.”

Chloé winked. “I'm so flattered.”

And despite the pounding bass, Chloé continued to slow dance with her awkwardly. There was nothing elegant about it; Marinette was clumsy in her heeled boots that she'd never worn out before, the height difference between them making it so she'd stumbled into Chloé's chest more often than not, and it was a little reassuring to know that Chloé wasn't perfect at everything.

For someone that thrived on being vain, Chloé was willingly making a fool of herself at that moment. And the fact that it was to comfort her made her chest feel warm.

It was then that Marinette relaxed a bit more, adjusting how her arms were looped around Chloé's shoulders to link her hands and tangle them in the loose blonde hair there, smile reaching her eyes as Chloé readily returned it.

Although she knew that they were surrounded by countless strangers, it felt like it was just the two of them.

And when Chloé leaned down to make it so their foreheads were touching, her breath caught in her throat.

“You're such a dork,” Chloé accused.

She blinked.

As quickly as it had happened, Chloé was pulling away, removing the hands from her waist to step back and correct her hair as she stated, “I'm going to get a drink.”

It was without Chloé glancing in her direction again; no smile to show that everything was okay, or even a brush of her hand to drag her over for another drink.

Marinette's throat felt tight.

She was back to standing on the sidelines, but this time she wasn't clutching a half-empty glass for company.

It hurt, no matter how many times it happened.

To make it worse, the next time that Chloé sauntered over, it was with someone else by her side. It was a man that had an arm around her waist, the glazed over look in their eyes making it clear that they were somewhat intoxicated, and Marinette couldn't get a word in before Chloé had launched herself at her, pulling her into a hug.

“You should come with me,” Chloé said loudly, a bit of a slur to her words. “A load of us are going to go back to the dorms.”

She pushed Chloé away, putting an short amount of distance between them. “No, thanks.”

It was unclear whether Chloé was drunk or truly didn't pick up on the upset tone of her voice because she persisted, whining, “You need to have some fun! And meet your class-mates. There's bound to be some other nerd over there, people are diverse nowadays.”

“Diversity isn't about having nerds in a group, Chloé,” she tiredly replied.

“You're welcome to join us,” the man said, flashing her a smile that didn't meet his eyes. “It's always good to have one last drink before classes start.”

“No, thanks,” she repeated with a frown.

Chloé's laugh didn't sound sincere. “You're not going to get anywhere being such a bore.”

“I promised to come here for a while, not go to a second location,” she replied, awkwardly crossing her arms. “If you want to go get drunk somewhere else, don't include me.”

“Chill, it's fine,” the guy interrupted, holding up his hands in a sign of surrender. “I thought I'd come over and see whether you were interested, but you're clearly not.”

Chloé reached out, cupping Marinette's face as she stated, “You just don't know what's good for you.”

“You think getting drunk with strangers is what I need?” she answered, incredulous.

“Have a little adventure,” Chloé replied, smiling wide. “You're so close-minded, Marinette.”

She almost laughed. “I don't think that's the word you're looking for.”

“Boring, plain Marinette,” Chloé said, extending the syllables like she was singing, but there was nothing pleasant about it. “You're never going to lose your virginity if you never spread your legs to fly.”

For a mortifying moment, it felt like Chloé had shouted those words for everyone to hear despite the pounding music. She stared at her friend, waiting to see whether she'd apologise, but all Chloé did was smile at her in that dopey way that always happened when she'd had too much wine.

But it wasn't even wine that evening—it wasn't like when they stole from the stash from Chloé's parents when they were having a sleepover. There were other people involved, and the man was there, smiling in what was still supposed to be an inviting way while they bickered.

It was humiliating.

Her face felt hot. “You're as much of a virgin as me.”

Chloé's laughter was loud.

The man wrapped an arm around Chloé's shoulders again, leaning in to ask, “You ready to go? It looks like your friend wants to go home and sleep.”

“All right,” Chloé agreed, leaning into his touch as she made eye contact with her. “Don't wait up, yeah? I promise I won't bring anyone back.”

And with that, Chloé was leaving with a sway to her hips, having the audacity to look over her shoulder to grin when Marinette couldn't do anything more than watch her leave.

She felt even more horrified when she realised that her eyes had started to well up with tears.

It was stupid, it was—

Normal.

Why had she expected it would be any different when it was only the two of them in a new city? Chloé would always find someone else to lean on and show her affections to; for as close as Marinette was to her, she wasn't special.

Marinette never felt special to her, in fact.

It was against her parents' wishes that she turned around, leaving the nightclub and returning home. She furiously wiped at her eyes with her palms, smudging the make-up and leaving black on her skin.

She sent a text to Chloé when she'd gotten back to their apartment.

It was left unread.

-x-

Marinette left in the morning after seeing that Chloé was safe in bed.

She didn't pick up her clothes, didn't leave out a bottle of water, and didn't pull the duvet up like she would've done any other time. Marinette resolutely left with her bag on, trekking across the campus and letting the music from her headphones try and correct her mood.

By the time she was sitting with her new class-mates, the stuffy feeling at the back of her throat was gone.

She was nervous, but everyone seemed nice.

A few of her class-mates lived in the dormitories near her, others lived on campus, and some lived with their families nearby. After classes were done, she walked with the few that were close to her, chatting and striking up a conversation that wasn't too forced. There were a few lulls where she didn't know what to say, but others pitched in and made it easier.

They agreed to meet up the next morning to walk to class together.

Marinette returned to her home with new numbers in her phone.

Chloé was up by then, lounging around on the sofa that was in their extended kitchen. The apartment wasn't too large, not luxurious enough for Chloé's taste, but it was a large step up from what the advertised dormitories were like. For a spoiled child, Chloé knew what the limits of her parents were.

She took in a deep breath before announcing her presence with, “How hungover with you?”

Chloé lifted her hand and tipped it from side-to-side for her answer.

“You look terrible,” she said, getting a glass out of the cupboard for a drink. “Did you skip your skin care last night?”

“I was too drunk,” Chloé replied, honest.

“You're lucky you didn't have classes today,” Marinette muttered, getting some water from the tap. “You know you can't skip because you're too tired to go in, right? Your parents will stop paying for this place if your attendance dips.”

“Marinette, I haven't even had my first day yet,” Chloé mused, leaning back and resting her neck against the top of the sofa, blonde hair spilling out against the dark fabric. “You expecting me to fail already?”

She shrugged, setting the glass down on the countertop. “I know you're bad at getting up.”

“So are _you—_ ”

“I sleep in on my days off,” she corrected, ready for the argument. “That's completely different to sleeping through an exam.”

“Oh, get over it,” Chloé retorted. “That was years ago.”

“Like two!” she exclaimed.

Chloé scoffed. “It clearly wasn't important if I'm here now.”

She started to say, “Your course didn't care about exam results—”

“Listen, you can bitch me out about it later,” Chloé interrupted, stretching out her arms before getting up to her feet, thin robe falling down to her elbows instead of being on properly. “Want to order in for dinner? I'll pay.”

Marinette frowned. “You're watching your weight.”

Chloé waved her hand dismissively. “I'll watch it tomorrow.”

“Okay, sure,” she agreed, rolling her shoulders. “But you have to answer the door and get it. You know I hate that.”

“Almost as much as you hate answering the phone,” Chloé teased.

“It's a perfectly legitimate fear,” she lamely replied. “A lot of people have it!”

“I have the self-confidence for both of us,” Chloé proclaimed, emphasising that by striking a pose and putting her hand on her hip. “You were the wallflower last night, anyway. It's not like I expected you to change immediately, but that was such a bore.”

The reminder of the night before felt like she'd spilled the water all over her.

“What?” was all she could say.

Chloé raised her eyebrows. “I like it more when you're there.”

It was a whisper as she replied, “You're the one that left me.”

“Eh, details,” Chloé dismissed. “Make sure you come next time, yeah? There wasn't any drugs or whatever you were worried about.”

“That's... not as reassuring as you think it is,” she said slowly, looking anywhere but at her. “I just—that's not my idea of a good time, okay? You know I hate parties. It doesn't matter if there's alcohol there or not, I'm not a social person.”

Chloé breathed out audibly. “You're so lame.”

She swallowed. “I've got homework.”

“What? Already?” Chloé called out. “It was your first day!”

Marinette didn't reply to that.

-x-

There was always a line between them.

They'd been best friends from so long; mothers close enough to introduce them days before they'd made it to nursery, had been in the same classes until college when what they were studying set them apart, and the fact that they'd made it into the same university had had both of their parents overjoyed and happy that it had worked out for them in the end.

Chloé was a social butterfly. She flittered around, talking to everyone and changing friends on a whim, spending time with whoever she wanted. The only constant in her life was that she'd wander back to her; Chloé would approach her with a smile, pushing aside whoever was sitting next to her to take their place, monopolising her attention on a whim.

And Marinette let her.

There was something so wonderful about being the one that Chloé would return to; no one else had Chloé leaning onto their shoulder, the brushes of hands when they walked side-by-side in the hallway, nor the sleepovers that had slowly changed to them sleeping closer over the years.

And yet, it had started to feel anything but flattering when they were away from their town. The familiar faces that knew them has a pair were gone, replaced with strangers crowding Chloé when she spotted her across campus, and Marinette always froze when she was introduced to new people.

Sometimes, it felt like her worries melted away when Chloé smiled at her, so wide that it reached her eyes, but the nerves and the worry about everyone's expectations were starting to not be drowned out by that any more. There was that underlying feeling that Chloé didn't consider her as special as she was to her—that it wasn't as mutual as she'd thought over the years.

Chloé was someone that could calm her down, talk her out of any spiral of anxiety she was feeling—but what was Marinette to her?

She didn't have anything to offer her.

That's what she always thought when she was left alone with Chloé's flighty attention span directed somewhere else. Those worries were soothed when Chloé smiled at her, but they were never completely gone.

She started to get along with her class-mates.

And Chloé was getting along with hers, too. Sometimes in the evening Chloé would try and drag her out to meet her friends, insisting that it wasn't good to stay cooped up in their flat the entire.

Marinette stubbornly stayed in, leaving socialisation that wasn't required for coursework for the weekend.

As stubborn as she was, Chloé was, too. It often left Marinette in the flat alone while Chloé visited the nearby dorms out hang out with others, coming back late in the evening with the smell of smoke sticking to her clothes and making Marinette grimace when Chloé hugged her and started to tell her all about her evening.

For all their time apart, Chloé tried to fill her in on everything, recounting those that she deemed worthy with her time or the ones that had annoyed her while she was there.

Marinette wasn't impressed when she visited the dorms one time to meet them.

She didn't drink, awkwardly sitting in the corner and replying only when she was spoken to. Having Chloé's arm wrapped around her waist didn't do anything to comfort her, not when Chloé was looking and talking to someone else, the action not as reassuring when it didn't have her full attention.

Marinette wasn't good with new people.

And Chloé—

Chloé was a social butterfly in the worst way.

“You're not serious,” Chloé blurted, incredulous.

Marinette looked down at her pyjamas. “I don't want to go out.”

“But you don't have any homework to do!” Chloé exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “It's _finally_ a chance to party away, and you're going to stay here?”

She lamely replied, “I've got my period.”

“Fine.” Chloé huffed, crossing her arms. “I'm staying, too.”

“What? No,” she said, startled. “You—there's no need to do that.”

“I know you get killer cramps the first night,” Chloé said, already pulling her shirt off and throwing it over Marinette's desk chair, completely ignoring that they had different bedrooms. “And complaining makes you feel better.”

She muttered, “It's a placebo.”

“I'm not mean enough to ditch you when you're feeling shit,” Chloé told her, taking off her skirt next before wandering over to the drawer and taking out one of the bigger nightdresses that Marinette owned. There was no hesitation there despite their new surroundings. “I think I've got some sweets in my room.”

It was quiet when she asked, “You're really not going out?”

Chloé smoothed out her new nightdress, peering down to see how much of her thighs were covered. “You kicking me out?”

“I'm questioning whether you're feeling okay,” she said, shifting on the spot. “You've—you've gone out, like, every weekend since we moved here.”

Chloé snorted. “We've only been here a month.”

“You see why I think it's a pattern, then,” she pointed out.

Chloé stepped closer, cupping Marinette's cheek with one hand. “If you're feeling neglected, you have to say so.”

“Neglected?” Marinette batted the hand away, taking a step back. “I'm just—I don't get why you're going out so much. You see most of them at uni anyway. Is it really that fun to hang out and talk all the time? And you smell like smoke when you come back—”

“Okay, mother,” Chloé replied, rolling her eyes. “Going to nag at me about anything else?”

“Yes, actually,” she started, feeling an unusual burst of confidence. “You mixed in your washing with mine.”

Chloé's smile showed her teeth. “That was our washing.”

“No,” she retorted, narrowing her eyes. “I never said I was going to all your chores. It's bad enough that you never clean the stove after cooking.”

Chloé was unimpressed. “What's the point if it's just going to get dirty again?”

“The same as showering!” she exclaimed.

There was no sudden expression of realisation on her face. “Does it really matter?”

Marinette stared. “You can't be serious.”

Chloé tried again to say, “If you're going to clean it anyway—”

“I'm not here to be your maid,” she blurted, throat feeling a bit tight. “It's enough that you ditched me before—”

Chloé was incredulous. “You can't still be mad about that.”

“Well, why _not_?” she countered. “You know I don't like crowds, but every time we go out, you—you always end up leaving me! I'm left there standing like an idiot waiting for you to come back because I'm too awkward to talk to strangers.”

There was confidence in Chloé's voice as she said, “I don't see how any of that is my fault.”

It made Marinette feel smaller than ever.

She sat down on the edge of her bed, pulling a pillow into her lap. “That's all you have to say?”

“I'm not going to apologise for not being socially retarded,” Chloé replied.

“That's so _offensive_!” Marinette exclaimed, getting irritated for different reasons. “You know it's not okay to say stuff like that any more.”

“Oh, please.” Chloé scoffed. “Who's going to hear me?”

She all but yelled back, “I can!”

“So?” Chloé replied with a toss of her hair behind her shoulder. “You're still here, aren't you? No matter how rude I am, you'll still be stuck to me like glue.”

“Maybe I won't be,” was her lame response to that.

There was no hesitation before Chloé burst into laughter.

Her eyes hurt.

“Can you—can you just leave?” Marinette asked, falling back onto the mattress and staring up at the ceiling. “The painkillers are making me sleepy.”

“It almost feels like you're kicking me out,” Chloé mused, no anger in her voice. There was no need for her to take it seriously when Marinette's words rarely got through to her about how insensitive she could be. “Want me to put some water in your hot water bottle?”

As much as she wanted to ignore her, Marinette muttered, “Please.”

She woke up hugging it later that night.

The sounds from Chloé's bedroom meant that she'd stayed in.

It shouldn't have made her smile, but it did.

-x-

When they were alone, that was when Marinette felt like she was something special.

Chloé reached out, touching Marinette's cheek before tucking some strands of hair behind her ear. “You look a little red.”

“It's getting cold,” Marinette replied without missing a beat.

Chloé leaned in, inspecting her face with narrowed eyes. “We're inside.”

“We walked here through all that wind,” she pointed out. “How bad is my hair? Give it to me straight.”

As if on cue, Chloé smoothed her fingers through Marinette's dark-coloured hair, fluffing up the ends and treating her like they were within the safety of their flat despite the location of a nearby coffee-shop that Chloé wanted to check out. It was with the promise of Chloé agreeing to buy their orders that she'd made the time to come out when she would've rather been at home in her pyjamas.

And Chloé liked to pick out outfits for her when they went somewhere together.

“It looks cute,” Chloé complimented.

Marinette ducked her head.

But Chloé didn't let her, using her hand to touch Marinette's chin to tilt it back up, leaning in so they were almost nose-to-nose.

“What?” she questioned, self-conscious.

“You've got some killer bags under your eyes,” Chloé observed. “You packed that concealer I got for you, right?”

She sighed. “It's in my room somewhere.”

“Well, wear it,” Chloé demanded, finally letting go to pick up her mug, holding it in two hands and smiling from the warmth. “You're so pale that you look horrendous when you don't sleep properly.”

“I think that's my style,” she quipped. “Looking like I'm going to fall over and die at any moment.”

Chloé wrinkled her nose. “No, it's not.”

“No?” she questioned. “I'd prefer that to being your plain friend.”

“You're not plain,” Chloé denied.

“No?” Marinette raised her eyebrows. “I literally got referred to that before. Right to my face. Don't you remember?”

“I remember punching them,” Chloé said with a scowl, looking down into her mug and swirling the contents by jostling it rather than picking up the spoon she'd left discarded on the saucer.

“It was a slap,” she corrected.

“ _Whatever_ ,” Chloé muttered, mood worsening from the mention of it. “You—if anyone calls you that, I'm going to hit them again, okay?”

Marinette smiled. “You're an adult, you can't do that now.”

Chloé haughtily raised her head. “I can do what I want, I'm rich.”

She snorted. “That's not always going to work.”

“We'll see,” Chloé declared, seeming to cheer up as she finally made eye contact with her again, even giving her a small smile before taking a sip of her drink. And from how Chloé's expression puckered for a moment, it was clear that the drink was too hot. “And you're not plain.”

She wasn't expecting that addition. “Anyone is plain next to you.”

“I'm above human expectations,” was the answer to that.

Marinette couldn't help but be amused. “When did your ego get so out of control?”

“When I realised being pretty got me everything, clearly.”

It wasn't funny how that was partially true. Marinette had seen the times that Chloé's face and smile had charmed people despite her sharp tongue; for someone so crude that liked to swear, being beautiful had helped her make up for what she lacked.

And Chloé was absolutely aware of that, fixing her outfits and hair before she left home, securing that her reputation was in tact.

She wondered what it had developed.

Chloé used to get muddy knees with her in the playground.

Somehow, Chloé wasn't done with the subject. “If you wore a bit more make-up—”

“I don't want to,” she interrupted, firm.

Chloé furrowed her brow. “Why?”

“Because it—it doesn't matter,” she lamely replied, gaze falling down to her drink as she used her spoon to stir it. There was something more distracting about using her hands while stalling her answer. “It never does.”

“I don't know what that means,” Chloé answered.

And that was fine.

Because make-up hadn't been what had gotten Chloé stuck to her side in the side place, and it wouldn't be the reason she stayed.

“I'm happy the way I am,” she said, though the words sounded a bit hollow.

Chloé looked at her strangely.

-x-

There was a build-up to it.

The environment was different; Marinette stressed alone in her bedroom about her work while Chloé was out, bound to be coming back in the late hours smelling of smoke despite never taking a cigarette into her hands.

As friendly as her class-mates were, Marinette worried about being annoying by messaging them first. She'd been added to a few group chats, typed in there sometimes when she was mentioned, but she panicked over the smallest thing and didn't want to make a fool of herself.

It was easier in person when she could gauge their reactions face-to-face.

Chloé never walked with her to university.

It was bound to happen, of course. They had different classes, were on complete opposite ends of the campus, but when all they did was wave and exchange the occasional word when they happened to catch sight of each other, it was like Chloé wasn't there at all.

And when she saw Chloé in the distance happily chatting with others, surrounded by those that were just as bright and shining from taking care of their appearance and splurging on expensive clothes, that nagging feeling she'd always felt from growing up beside Chloé was back.

She'd seen the clothes become increasingly more expensive and designer, the cartoon backpacks exchanged for bags that Marinette would never be able to afford—

Chloé cared about appearances.

The worries before had been drowned out from how close they were; with Chloé hugging her or dragging her to lunch since they were at the same time, but that wasn't the same any more.

Their apartment was a little bubble where it was just the two of them, happily together without inviting anyone else round. Chloé said it was because she didn't want ruin the carpet.

It didn't stop her from threatening to bring people back if Marinette didn't go out with her on the weekends, only not to follow through in the end.

She never did.

So, Marinette grew comfortable at staying alone when Chloé was out, the two slowly starting to drift and spend less time together.

She didn't think it would work like that when they were living together.

“You finally out of your cave?” Chloé questioned in the morning.

Marinette shot her an unimpressed look. “You need to shower. I can smell the smoke from here.”

“That bad?” Chloé questioned, turning her head to sniff her arm. “I can't smell anything.”

“You can't mask it with perfume,” she replied without crossing the room to inspect her. Chloé was never one to shower in the evening. “How come you're here? I thought you'd have something to do.”

Chloé shrugged. “It's the weekend.”

“That doesn't answer my question at all,” she said, turning on the kettle and leaning back against the countertop to face Chloé while waiting. “Last week, you went out to brunch with your new friends.”

“I did invite you,” Chloé reminded her.

“And I'd never join that,” she replied without hesitation. “I don't want—I want to spend time with you, not your friends.”

“Well, I'll never meet your friends, then,” Chloé retorted, as though that was a threat.

Marinette frowned. “That's fine with me.”

Chloé squinted. “Really?”

“You'd only call them nerds, probably,” she mused. “You've always been like that if I introduced you to some other friends. No one's good enough for your standards.”

It was with confidence that Chloé replied, “I don't like sharing you.”

Marinette's throat felt tight. “That's obvious.”

Chloé was affronted. “You don't sound happy.”

“Should I be?” she questioned, tilting her head. “You just admitted that you hate anyone I befriend.”

“Because they're not as good as me,” Chloé stated, raising her eyebrows. “You going to tell me I'm wrong? You practically worship the ground I walk on.”

“Okay, that's rude,” Marinette said, scrunching up her facial features in distaste. “Since _when_? You're my friend—I like you, but I'm allowed to like other people. You don't have to like them because I do.”

Chloé scowled. “I don't need the fucking friend talk.”

“You sure?” she asked. “Because you're acting like you're twelve instead of eighteen.”

Childishly, Chloé raised her middle finger.

“You know,” she started, looking down at her feet as she scuffed her socks against the tiles of the kitchen floor. “I feel like you're my best friend, but you're not mine.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Chloé exclaimed.

“I barely see you,” she said, surprised that her voice didn't crack. “You're—you're always out with your new friends.”

Chloé scoffed. “I'm still spending time with you.”

“Barely,” Marinette muttered, startled when the kettle made a noise behind her to indicate it was ready. “You don't even come home straight away after classes.”

“I didn't realise you were my _mother—_ ”

“That's not it!” she all but yelled, balling her hands into fists before relaxing them to fiddle with her sleeves, nervously avoiding eye contact once more. “I just—we used to do everything together. I thought it wouldn't change when it's only the two of us, but—”

“I'm actually studying,” Chloé told her, the tone of her voice getting across her unhappiness. “That smoke you keep complaining about is some stupid incense that one of my class-mates keeps lighting because he says it helps him think.”

She blinked.

“Not that you ever bothered to come along to fucking find out,” Chloé muttered, barely audible.

Then, before she had a chance to figure exactly how to respond that, Chloé was crossing the room, coming to stand in front of her so their chests were almost touching. Marinette sucked in a sharp breath as Chloé leaned in, putting her hands on the countertop on either side of her, essentially trapping her there.

Chloé's smile almost seemed like a smirk. “You can say you're jealous.”

Marinette swallowed. “I—”

Chloé remarked, “I always knew you were needy, but not like _this_.”

“I'm not jealous!” she blurted.

“Oh, sure,” Chloé said, drawing out the last vowel as she cupped Marinette's cheek, their noses almost brushing from the close distance. “You're having a tantrum because I haven't been paying you enough attention.”

“That's _not_ it,” Marinette denied, her voice cracking. “I'm not going to have a breakdown because you're—you're suddenly friends with other people. I'm fed up that you never do anything around here and only really acknowledge me when we're alone.”

To her embarrassment, Chloé's thumb traced a pattern on her face. “Same thing.”

She felt terribly small as she said, “You haven't even hoovered your room once.”

Chloé snorted. “So? It's not like you have to look in there.”

She glared.

“Marinette,” Chloé started, ever-so-softly. It was a rare occurrence from her when she was loud with everything from her personality to her looks and actions. “I'm not ignoring you.”

There wasn't any specific she could say in reply to that.

So, she stayed quiet.

Chloé took that to mean that she wouldn't say anything either, the two simply looking at each other from a close distance; enough for Marinette to feel her breath as Chloé continued to trace patterns into her cheek with her thumb, cupping her face in a way that felt completely different to her parents.

No one else treated her like that.

And Chloé—

Chloé didn't think skinship was a big deal between them. It was natural, even; the brush of their hands as they walked, how close they were in bed for their sleepovers with their legs tangled in the morning, but there was something different amount it happening in their new home.

She wetted her lips.

And it was with that that she realised that Chloé's gaze had slipped, falling down to her mouth.

She inhaled sharply.

Chloé pulled away, jumping back so quickly to put distance between them.

Marinette felt like she'd been punched.

Chloé was wide-eyed.

She didn't know what her expression was.

It was enough for Chloé to quietly say, “Marinette—”

She turned away, ready to walk down the hallway and retreat into her room for the future.

It was always like that.

But instead of Chloé walking away, it was her. Marinette didn't look back as she left, the kettle that she'd boiled never actually being used, and the last thing she'd expected was for Chloé to stop her with anything other than words.

A parting snarky comment would've been normal—

Chloé tugged on her wrist, stopping her in her tracks before cupping her face once more. It wasn't the soft touch from before—it was clumsy with fingers tangling in her hair, their height difference making it so Chloé forcefully lifted her head up, enough so for their noses to brush before lips were pressing against her own.

Marinette froze.

But Chloé wasn't deterred, kissing her in a way that was more passionate than the pecks when they were playing as children. It was almost harsh, not a feather-light touch that would've matched her shy feelings.

Marinette shoved her away.

Chloé stumbled, staring at her as wide-eyed as before.

She touched her lips, sure her expression was as equally surprised.

And for a moment, neither of them said anything.

Marinette broke it. “You can't just kiss someone.”

Chloé blinked. “What?”

“You need _consent_ ,” she lamely replied, aware of how hot her face felt, shyness increasing when she looked at Chloé's face. “It's assault otherwise.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Chloé replied, running her fingers through her blonde hair. “I didn't assault you.”

She felt a bit dazed. “You kissed me.”

“Yeah, so what?” Chloé muttered. “I've done it before.”

“But not—not like that,” she stuttered out.

Chloé stared at her.

Marinette stared back.

Chloé brow furrowed. “Why do I have to fucking ask for permission when you liked it?”

“That's not the point—”

There was a smug tone to her voice as Chloé interrupted to say, “So, you admit that you liked it.”

She swallowed. “That's not what I said.”

Chloé touched her bottom lip with her thumb as she proclaimed, “You wouldn't reject me.”

And that—

That had always been true, hadn't it? Marinette had catered to Chloé's whims for as long as they'd known each other; choosing what Chloé preferred over her own preferences, whether it was for food or watching something on the television.

It made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

Marinette's voice cracked as she asked, “Do you even like me?”

“Of course I do,” Chloé replied matter-of-factly. “You're my best friend.”

She breathed out audibly.

Chloé looked at her with her eyebrows raised, as though that statement was all that she needed to say.

She managed to get out, “You don't do that with your friends.”

Chloé was a bit taken aback at that. “You're different.”

“That doesn't mean you can just—” Marinette cut herself off to try and calm down, running her fingers through her hair as she looked down at her feet. She'd forgotten to put socks on after she'd woken up. “I only want be kissed from someone I like.”

She didn't look up to see Chloé's expression, but she could've sworn she sounded confused as she said, “You like me.”

“As more than a friend,” she clarified, finding the courage to meet Chloé's gaze. “And that they feel the same about me, too. I'm not—I don't want something... casual.”

Chloé scoffed. “What are you even trying to say?”

“Let's stop... this,” she said, gesturing between them. “Whatever this is, it's—”

“I'm not good enough for you now?” Chloé demanded, taking a step forward.

Marinette took one back, putting distance between them. “That's not it.”

“No?” Chloé questioned, facial features twisting from anger. “Because it was _never_ a problem before—”

“You've never kissed me like that!” she blurted.

Chloé stared.

“That—we haven't done that,” Marinette stuttered out, aware that her face was burning and her voice was quivering with every word. She could hear the nervous beating of her heart echoing in her head as she finally said the things she'd kept inside for so long. “We've only ever kissed when we shared a bed—”

“What? So I have to wait until we're in bed to do it?” Chloé interrupted, crossing her arms. “Because that's stupid. We only shared because your house doesn't have a fucking guest room.”

She swallowed. “That's not my point.”

“No?” Chloé let out an insincere laugh. “It sure sounds like you're trying to break up with me.”

“I can't break up with you when we're not—not anything!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “That's—that's what I'm on about here! I'm fed up getting my hopes up only for you to panic and run off—”

“Panic?” Chloé repeated, incredulous. “When have I ever done that?”

“When you look like you're going to kiss me in public,” she bluntly replied.

Chloé raised her upper lip in distaste. “What? I've never done that.”

It didn't sound as confident as she wanted as she said, “We've kissed enough for me to know when you want to.”

Chloé's voice was higher-pitched than normal as she demanded, “First you only want it in bed, now you're offended that I _didn't_?”

Marinette straightened her shoulders. “I don't want this any more.”

“Right,” Chloé said, drawing out the word.

She shifted on the spot. “Either you kiss me with feelings or you don't kiss me at all.”

“Who says I've never kissed you with feelings?” Chloé demanded, gesturing sharply between them. “I _like_ you, idiot. Why else would I keep you around?”

“You know what I'm trying to say!”

Chloé scowled. “You're saying I'm not good enough.”

“Is that all you can focus on?” Marinette questioned, raising her voice. “Why is it always about _you_? Do my feelings not matter in this?”

“Fuck off,” Chloé snapped back. “You're saying I'm not the problem here! It's not like you never pushed me away in the past.”

She exclaimed, “We're the problem!”

“According to you, there's no we,” Chloé pointed out with a dirty look. “Haven't you ever heard of friends with benefits?”

“Because sharing innocent kisses counts as that,” she shot back, incredulous. “The kiss from just now is the most—most... not innocent it's ever been.”

Chloé snorted. “You going to combust if I use tongue?”

“I don't want you to!” Marinette blurted. “We're—we're not doing this any more, okay? It's not normal.”

“Since when do you fucking care about that?” Chloé questioned. “You're always happy following me around and doing whatever I want. What's making you draw the line now?”

“I told you, I'm fed up with feeling like shit when you ditch me,” she insisted, pulling her sleeves down over her hands, digging her nails into the fabric. “It's better to end this now before either of us get hurt.”

Chloé snorted. “Before you get consumed with more jealousy.”

Her face felt hot. “Chloé—”

“You know what?” Chloé started, brushing past her and childishly knocking her shoulder into her like she'd do to those that annoyed her in school. “I'll go get over this devastating breakup with my new friends. You'll be giving me the silent treatment anyway.”

And before she could reply to that, Chloé had slammed her bedroom door.

-x-

Marinette was convinced that she'd done the right thing.

It had always been skirting the line of friendship from how close they'd been; stealing kisses at sleepovers and their skinship wasn't normal between friends, and that had become apparent when Chloé was self-conscious about doing it in public.

Chloé was the most confident person she knew.

So, that meant that there was something wrong with the situation. They'd never discussed a relationship, had never even proposed the idea of exploring that side of their interactions more, and Chloé's defensive response to being told to stop hadn't come as a surprise.

Marinette didn't have anyone to talk about what happened with.

She passed the time with some more work for university, climbing into bed with her laptop to watch things before wandering out into the kitchen for dinner.

Chloé hadn't come back after she'd left.

The following day, she still wasn't back.

Marinette didn't text her.

They could be as stubborn as each other.

She went to her classes, smile not quite reaching her eyes, but none of her class-mates knew her well enough to realise that she was faking it. They were as friendly as ever, asking about her weekend and inviting her over to their place to hang out, and she only hesitated a little before accepting their offer.

It was fun.

While over there, she relaxed, talking freely with the group of friends that she'd acquired for herself. They weren't the ones that knew her as Chloé's best friend, barely any of them knew that her best friend was an attention hog that didn't always mean the insults that she came out with, and Marinette didn't have to apologise for Chloé's behaviour when her words were misunderstood.

It was refreshing.

At least, that was until she was walking back home, realising that the only likely result of their argument was that Chloé would pretend that nothing had happened and continue on like normal.

Except, that wasn't what happened.

Chloé still hadn't returned.

Marinette could tell that when peeking into Chloé's room to see that none of the dirty clothes on the floor had moved, nor had anything on the desk moved. Chloé had the terrible habit of leaving cups and mugs on the desk until it was filled up, too lazy to clean up after herself immediately.

She opened the window to air it out before leaving.

It took about two minutes for her to change her mind, marching back into Chloé's bedroom and climbing onto the desk to close the window.

And when she was getting back down again, she froze at the sound of the front door.

It wasn't anything like she'd predicted.

Chloé staggered into the door, clutching onto the doorway to stay upright. And instead of noticing that she was there straight away, Chloé made a pained noise as she held up a hand against her bloodstained chest, grunting as she shuffled in.

Marinette was stood still, frozen.

There was blood all over Chloé's clothes. Her hair was she usually spent so long on was messy, clumped with blood standing out against the blonde strands, and she was missing a shoe.

She choked out, “Chloé—”

Chloé promptly fainted.

-x-

The strangest part of it all was that there was nothing wrong with her.

Marinette's reaction was to call an ambulance, of course.

But after Chloé had stayed the night in the hospital, she was released with a clean bill of health. The only injury she had was on her foot from walking without a shoe on. The clothes had been taken off and not returned, the only evidence that anything had happened to her when they left being the matted hair that was still gross and covered in blood.

Marinette dealt with calling Chloé's parents to assure them that everything was okay.

And when they returned to their flat, Chloé had barely spoken, shrugging off her arm to go into her bedroom to go to sleep.

Marinette had messages from her class-mates asking where she was since she'd skipped that day to stay in the hospital.

She wondered whether Chloé had the same reaction—she'd missed two days compared to her one.

While she'd expected Chloé to pretend that nothing had happened, she thought it would be about their fight, not her coming home covered in blood and staggering as though she was heavily injured.

“I'm fine,” Chloé ground out, irritation seeping into her tone as she slapped Marinette's hand away. “Just—I want to be alone.”

And that was the sign that something was wrong with her.

Chloé was a social butterfly, someone that loved to hear their own voice whether it was to recount stories and exaggerate them or to talk about something ever-so-mundane. It was so rare for Chloé to close off and want to be alone, even more so for Marinette to be included in that closed off category.

She was normally the exception.

But that was before she'd said she wanted to end whatever their relationship was—

It wasn't the time to focus on the stolen kisses.

Thankfully, they didn't have carpet in the hallway. It had been easy to clear up the blood that had come from Chloé's foot, scrubbing the small bit of red that had gotten onto the bedroom's carpet, and she'd changed Chloé's bedding and cleared up the room while Chloé was showering.

Suddenly, cleaning up after her didn't seem so bad.

Chloé didn't go to classes the next day.

When she went to knock on Chloé's bedroom door, she got ignored before going to her own classes.

It was with the decision to pretend that nothing was wrong that she returned home. Marinette called out that she was back before going to change into her pyjamas, resigned to staying in and making her decision obvious by changing her attire, and when she still didn't get a reply, she knocked on Chloé's door and peered in.

Chloé was sprawled out on her bed with her headphones on, watching something on her laptop.

Instead of disturbing her, she sent a text, telling her that she'd make dinner for the both of them.

Chloé didn't reply, but it wasn't left unread.

That was an improvement, at least.

When Chloé did come out of her room later on, Marinette tried to sound casual as she said, “I made your favourite.”

Chloé's voice cracked. “Yeah, thanks.”

There was a beat of silence.

They started eating without words.

It was halfway through that Chloé slammed her cutlery down and declared, “You're being weird.”

“Me?” Marinette questioned through her mouthful.

“You—you're treating me like glass or something,” Chloé accused, pointing a finger her way. “Why?”

“Why?” she repeated, incredulous. “Why do you _think_? I was crying over you in the hospital while you were passed out! And I don't care that you're not injured physically, obviously something's up since you locked yourself in your room and avoided me—”

Chloé scowled. “Nothing happened.”

She frowned right back. “I totally believe that.”

“Good,” Chloé muttered, running her hand through her hair and cringing. It didn't look as soft as usual, and there seemed to be a few tangles in there despite having taken a shower since being home. “I want to forget it happened and I can't do that with you hovering over me.”

She cautiously pointed out, “So, you admit something happened.”

Chloé narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, and we're _forgetting_ it.”

It was such a leap from the denial only minutes ago.

“Okay,” she whispered. “But know that I'm here if you—if you need me, okay?”

Chloé looked down at her plate. “I know.”

They did just that.

Marinette grew increasingly worried about what had happened. The hospital had said that there had been no assault, and the only injuries that Chloé had had been on her naked foot, but that didn't mean that everything was okay after that.

Chloé was acting withdrawn still.

And unlike all those other days where she'd spent time with her class-mates, she was coming straight home and shutting her bedroom door, only emerging when Marinette texted that dinner was ready. There was something off about her wardrobe, too; the usual coordination for her outfits was there, but it was lacking accessories that she usually loved.

Chloé had hats and different jewellery organised and on display in her bedroom, but she wasn't wearing any of it.

Marinette tried to smother her worry with smiles.

It wasn't working.

She knew that calling Chloé's parents wasn't an option. They were more likely to send Chloé more money rather than come and see her—and on the off chance that they really did come and visit, it would've only worsened Chloé's mood.

A clear sign that something was wrong was Chloé wandering into the room and sitting down beside her without a word. Chloé tapped away at her phone, seeming to be content to simply be thigh-to-thigh while scrolling through social media.

Marinette felt like she was walking on egg shells the entire time.

Since the attack—if it could even be classed as that—none of the boundaries she set had even been approached. Chloé had put a line between them; nothing more than sitting close, no hugging for a prolonged amount of time, and there was no touching that bordered on the line of being more than friendly.

She wondered when she'd gotten so used to Chloé touching her so much.

It was almost second nature to lean into her touch when Chloé's hand was on her cheek as they spoke, no matter the context of the conversation.

And with it gone, there was that empty feeling in her chest that was slowly becoming more and more prominent with Chloé's strange behaviour.

While Chloé's parents had splurged—and were paying the majority for—the apartment, there was still only one bathroom for the two to share. Marinette didn't mind, though there was a large amount of beauty products taking up the counter beside the mirror.

When she went in there one morning to brush her teeth, Chloé was in the middle of putting on her make-up.

Glancing at the dark circles beneath her eyes, Marinette asked, “Did you sleep?”

Chloé shrugged.

“You could go back to bed,” she said, hips almost touching as she reached across to get her toothbrush out of the pot she'd placed there. “Ask a class-mate to give you their notes because you're dying. I'm sure they won't mind too much.”

It was the closest they'd been for a while from Marinette's own movements.

Chloé stared at her.

She turned her head, looking in the mirror as she stood upright and turned the tap on.

Chloé was still staring.

It was a little unnerving.

“That surprised I'm supporting you skipping?” she tried to joke, but the laugh she let out at the end sounded as forced as it felt. “It's okay to take time off sometimes. You've been doing well with your assignments, right?”

It wasn't a request when Chloé said, “Let me kiss you.”

She almost dropped her toothbrush.

“You—” Chloé leaned in, one hand on the edge of the sink as she let her make-up brush clumsily fall onto the side without cleaning it. “You look so... cute.”

Marinette swallowed.

“Let me,” Chloé murmured, their noses brushing from the close distance, but she wasn't taking that last little nudge to press their lips together.

It wasn't a verbal question, but it was there.

There had never been a need to ask before.

She should've said no to establish their boundaries further, but being so close that she could see Chloé's blonde eyelashes—that she hadn't gotten round to darkening with mascara yet to actually make them visible from a distance—any of the protests she could've said died on her tongue.

It was a whisper as she said, “Okay.”

Chloé didn't move immediately.

They were close enough that she could feel her breath on her face; the warmth covering her skin more than her blush alone, and the first gentle touch of Chloé's lips against hers had her closing her eyes. Marinette leaned in as Chloé ran her fingers through her hair, intimate in a way they hadn't been for days.

The tap was still running.

She could hear it over the sound of her heartbeat. It wasn't from nerves that she could hear her pulse; it was a mixture of excitement and confusion, utterly caught off-guard from the sudden development, but she couldn't say she hated it when Chloé's touch was so gentle unlike the last time they'd kissed.

It wasn't harsh and trying to get a point across.

Marinette wound her arms around Chloé's neck, making it so they were chest-to-chest as she adjusted her head to lean back further to make the height difference between them less awkward. It wasn't lost on her that if they were both standing upright, she wouldn't have been able to kiss Chloé properly.

But that wasn't the problem at that moment.

They kissed until she felt breathless.

And when they pulled away, Marinette could see how Chloé's lips were reddened in a way that wasn't from make-up.

They were still close, breaths mingling as they stared at each other, and she wasn't sure which one of them started the kiss again.

When the hand fell from her hair, Marinette made a noise of surprise as Chloé suddenly picked her up, clumsily putting her down on the counter beside the sink.

Her feet could still touch the ground.

It wasn't as innocent any more.

Chloé was leaning down to kiss her. Marinette spread her legs to allow her to stand between them, narrowing down the distance so they were pressed against each other again, and Marinette wrapped her arms around Chloé's neck, kissing back with more enthusiasm.

It wasn't the gentle and hesitant kiss that it had been before, but it still wasn't the one she'd pushed her away for.

There was nothing unwelcome about it.

And when they parted, making it so she was able to see Chloé looking at her with half-lidded eyes and blush on her cheeks that wasn't completely hidden by her make-up, Marinette's smile reached her eyes.

Chloé returned it, making her look younger than ever.

It was with a chaste kiss to her lips that Chloé demanded, “Go on a date with me.”

As always, she was bad at saying no to her.

-x-

There was a misunderstanding.

“You're a pretty shit girlfriend,” Chloé remarked.

She blinked. “What?”

“You don't even sneak into my bed at night,” Chloé continued, dramatically placing her chin in her hand with her elbow on the arm of the sofa. “How am I supposed to feel loved if you don't surprise me?”

“In your bed?” she repeated, confused. “You—I'm not your girlfriend?”

Chloé frowned. “Yes, you are.”

“I am?” Marinette exclaimed, pointing at her own face. “But—”

Chloé helpfully replied, “You've been making out with me all week.”

“Yes?” It still came out sounding like a question. “But we—I thought we didn't put a name on it or something.”

“We went on a date to a café and shared cake,” Chloé reminded her.

“We did,” she agreed.

Chloé added on, “And I held your hand and stared at anyone that looked at us.”

“You did,” Marinette confirmed with a nod of her head. “It was more like you glaring at anyone, but yeah. Same thing.”

Chloé huffed. “I don't see how this doesn't qualify you as my girlfriend.”

“I didn't know it was happening!” she defended, the words sounding lame to her own ears. “I've never dated anyone. I don't know how this works.”

“It works like this,” Chloé started, reaching out to take Marinette's hands into her own and tug her forwards so Marinette was sitting on her lap. “We're dating and I demand you climb into my bed.”

Marinette's face felt hot. “I'll think about it.”

“There's no thinking about it,” Chloé answered back, wrapping her arms around Marinette's waist and leaning in to rest her head on the crook of her neck. “Don't panic and overthink things like you always do. I'm not fucking dealing with comforting you all the time.”

She didn't say that Chloé was doing that right that moment.

Marinette made a noise of surprise as one of Chloé's hands wandered under her shirt, fingertips tracing patterns onto her skin. “This is too sudden, we've only been dating for two minutes.”

“A week,” Chloé corrected, breathing against Marinette's neck.

“I don't think it counts when only one of us was aware,” she muttered.

Chloé chose to respond to that by biting her neck.

Marinette yelped.

Chloé laughed, nosing against her skin before pressing a kiss to where she'd bit. “Don't be such a pussy.”

“I am very overwhelmed right now,” she declared.

Chloé bit her again. “Are you?”

Her voice cracked. “Yes!”

“What if I do this?” Chloé asked, the hand on her back trailing higher to brush against the clasp of her bra.

Marinette scrambled off of her to stand up, red-faced and embarrassed.

Chloé laughed loudly.

She buried her face in her hands. “You can't do that!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chloé got out through her laughter, holding her hands up in a sign of surrender. “I won't do anything you're not ready for.”

“I'm still adjusting to us dating,” she said, putting her cool hands on her cheeks in an attempt to get the blush to go. “You can't just jump me like that.”

Chloé tutted. “You were the one sat on me.”

“You put me there—”

“Excuses,” Chloé interrupted, drawing out the word like she was singing. “I get it, you're a prude. I'll be a good girl.”

“Well, good,” was her response to that, complete with her shifting on the spot, unsure on what to do. It wasn't completely thought out before she asked, “Am I... is it okay to tell people we're dating?”

Chloé shrugged. “Yeah, whatever. Don't tell your parents, though.”

She blinked. “What? Why?”

“They might get weird and not want us to live together,” Chloé replied without hesitation, shooting her a smug smile. “We can't be having that, right? It's easy access having you here.”

She pulled a face. “That sounds so _sleazy—_ ”

“I'm lazy,” Chloé proclaimed.

“That's an understatement,” she muttered. “I'm not slipping into your bed until you clean your room. Stepping on your dirty underwear ruins the mood.”

Chloé's smile was all teeth. “There's a mood, is there?”

Childishly, she raised her middle finger up at that.

Chloé's laughter echoed in the room.

-x-

Chloé started to seek her out at university.

Marinette was worried at first, wondering what could be wrong for Chloé to text her and ask where she was. Although she'd always been prepared and taped up a version of her schedule on the whiteboard in her bedroom, she hadn't expected for Chloé to make use of that.

Chloé turned up at the library, sitting down and pressing a kiss to her cheek as a greeting.

Her face felt hot. “What are you doing here?”

“I've got a free period,” Chloé responded, placing her bag down on her lap and putting her elbows on the desk. “I thought I'd hang out with you instead of going home and coming back. You know how much I hate walking.”

“You've... never done this before,” she said slowly, putting her pen down and turning her attention away from her notebook. It wasn't anything important that needed to be done immediately. “Are you okay?”

Chloé snorted. “I'm fine.”

She squinted. “You sure?”

“Is it so fucking bad I want to spend time with you?” Chloé demanded, resting her head in one of her hands to look at her with a smile that reached her eyes. “I should've known you'd be in the library. You're still such a nerd.”

Marinette blurted, “I'm very confused.”

“And I'm confused why I like you so much,” Chloé said, reaching out and tucking some loose strands of hair behind Marinette's ears, her touch lingering for a moment. “You've never done my homework for me.”

She reminded her, “I draw the line at cheating for you.”

“And it's even worse now,” Chloé mused. “I can't call you up for help because I can't understand something—no, I have to _talk_ to people.”

“You like people,” she said with a laugh.

There was no embarrassment as Chloé stated, “I like you.”

It was so straightforward that Marinette didn't know what to say in return.

Chloé's smile widened.

“What about your class-mates?” she questioned, closing her notebook before clumsily putting it away in her bag. “You—you must've been with them before, right?”

Chloé shrugged. “A few of them dropped out.”

“Already?” she asked.

“Yeah, no idea,” Chloé answered back, inspecting her nails to see if there was any dirt underneath them. “A professor told us today, so there's that.”

“Were they the ones you're friends with?” she asked.

Rather than reply to that, Chloé pushed her chair back and announced, “Let's go get a coffee.”

“But I have class soon—”

“I'll drink what you don't finish,” was Chloé's resolution to that.

And when Chloé took her hand in hers to drag her across the campus, she couldn't complain too much.

It was what she'd wanted, wasn't it?

Chloé wasn't shying away from her any more; rather, she was closer than ever, kissing her whether they were alone or not, and Marinette constantly felt frazzled and overwhelmed from the sudden affection that was being shown her way. It was so much more than when they were touchy-feely as friends.

She liked it.

And from how bright Chloé smiled at her, she felt the same.

It was like a flip was switched and everything was back to normal.

Chloé was attending classes, hanging out with her friends some nights but coming back quickly to spend time with her despite her saying that it was fine for them to spend time apart. Neither of them had experience in relationships before, but it seemed that the only big difference was that they kissed a lot more.

It prompted Marinette to ask, “We're not doing this wrong, right?”

Chloé laughed. “You're worried that we're not doing this right?”

“Well, I—” Marinette fiddled with her hair, feeling shy. “I don't know? Maybe. That sounds stupid, but—”

“We've always been close,” Chloé reminded her, leaning in close enough so their noses bumped before placing a chaste kiss to her lips. “This is just an added bonus.”

She questioned, “I'm a bonus?”

Chloé grinned. “I do deserve a reward every now and then.”

She made a disapproving noise. “Because it's all about you.”

“You and me,” Chloé corrected. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Marinette rolled her eyes.

The night Chloé came back covered in blood wasn't mentioned again. Chloé seemed to be recovered, smiles reaching her eyes and happier than ever since they'd become a couple, and they were spending more time together than since they'd moved in, even if it was something as mundane as Marinette doing her assignments while Chloé lounged around and kept quiet.

Christmas was when everything turned upside down.

They travelled back home together, side-by-side on the train. Marinette spent the majority of the ride asleep, waking up to her head on Chloé's shoulder.

Chloé had smiled and placed her head back there, encouraging her to sleep more.

They were holding hands when both of their parents turned up at the station to pick them up.

Chloé was never one to be subtle.

When they parted, Chloé tugged her hand to stop her from moving before kissing her more than what would've been appropriate in front of their parents. They hadn't discussed when they were going to break that they were dating, let alone how they were going to do it, but making out at the train station had never been an option.

Marinette was red-faced when they parted.

Chloé winked. “Text me later.”

Marinette's father whistled.

She buried her face in her hands from embarrassment.

Her parents were completely supportive of it, surprisingly. There were a few teasing comments that were meant to make her squirm—and they did—but they didn't say anything like they'd always expected it or that things would have to change with the sudden development. If anything, they were asking when Chloé could visit because Chloé usually lounged around their home during the holidays since her parents were busy.

Not that year, apparently.

Chloé went abroad for a week to somewhere hotter.

Marinette spent the entire time in her pyjamas, wrapping a blanket around her like a cloak when she walked around the house. It was nice to talk to her parents in person instead of over the phone, and they were pampering her, telling her to sit down so they could cook and make her drinks.

The last text she'd gotten from Chloé was her complaining that her parents were going to take her phone.

She winced at that.

While they weren't dysfunctional, Chloé didn't like spending time with her parents too much. They were either nagging and wanting her to better herself, or bickering between each other while Chloé sat there awkwardly, not bothering to take one side.

It was a tense household, Marinette had found out over the years.

She liked to think that hers was the opposite. From how often Chloé had come over—from after school to begging to stay over whenever she could—there had to be something appealing about her home.

Her chest felt warm when she realised it was because of her.

It was still strange that she could be honest now; that she didn't have to shove her feelings down and taste the disappointment when Chloé lost her nerve and ran away from her in public. There was none of that any more, not when Chloé's confidence was translating well into their new relationship.

She was happy.

And when she got the message from Chloé that she'd be coming back the day after, that happiness increased.

They had a fortnight until they had to return to campus.

Marinette got out of bed as soon as she woke up, rolling out and stumbling her way to the bathroom instead of lounging around and checking her phone.

She checked the mirror, adjusting her shirt and doing up the last button since Chloé had said that the collar suited her.

Her parents gave her a knowing look on her way out.

It was a short distance between their homes, but there was a big difference in the neighbourhoods. Chloé's had always been luxurious with large fences around the homes and gardens that were well-cared for, while Marinette's was average.

She had to press a button by the gate and wait to be let in.

It was Chloé's mother that spoke to her, telling her that Chloé was still asleep.

“Chlo?” she called out to announce herself.

There was a lump under the duvet.

Marinette grinned, stepping into the room and opening up the curtains first. There was no dust, of course. Unlike the messy room Chloé had at their apartment, her parents employed someone to clean for them. It would've been unthinkable to return from their holiday to dust.

“Chloé,” she said again, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

There was a grunt.

She snickered, slowly starting to pry the duvet off.

“What fucking time is it?” Chloé complained, wincing as the light hit her eyes. And as she used a hand to shield her face from the sun, she lamented, “You could've let me sleep some more before assaulting me.”

“You asked me to get into bed with you,” she replied, amused.

“You're on it, not in,” Chloé muttered, looking through her fingers to glare at her. “At least try and get the details right next time. This is far too innocent for me.”

Marinette flopped down beside her, making a point of putting her head on the pillow. “There, is that better?”

“Almost.” Chloé sniffed, turning to face her and adjusting the duvet to cover the both of them. “You're wearing too many clothes.”

“It's cold,” she said.

“You think I care about that?” Chloé retorted.

“Well, maybe you'll care when you can see my nipples,” she muttered, pulling the duvet down to get more comfortable, tangling their legs together.

Chloé laughed. “How gross do you feel from saying that?”

She smiled back.

It was nice to see her.

They were close enough that they were sharing the same pillow. Chloé looked younger without the make-up on; there was no mascara on her blonde eyelashes, though her eyebrows had been touched up and tinted, and the lack of foundation and concealer meant that she could see the bags that were back under her eyes again.

Marinette reached out and touched her cheek, smoothing her thumb beneath her eye. “You haven't been sleeping.”

“I have,” Chloé said. “A lot. You can even ask my parents. I spent the whole last day in the hotel sleeping because I couldn't stop yawning at breakfast. And you know how they feel about breakfast.”

“It's important,” she agreed.

“So is not yawning like a dog, apparently,” Chloé muttered.

“Did you stay up late?” she asked.

“No,” Chloé denied, leaning into her touch and closing her eyes. “I think I might've caught a bug or something. I feel like shit.”

She frowned. “You do?”

“It feels like I've ran too much, but we both know I'd _never_ run,” Chloé explained with an audible sigh. “And I feel, like, sluggish? Is that the right word?”

“Maybe,” she said, moving her hand up to press the back of it to Chloé's forehead, feeling for a temperature. “You don't feel hot right now, but maybe I'm not the best judge since I forgot my gloves when I came over here.”

Chloé huffed. “I'm always hot.”

“Chloé, you look like a corpse right now,” she bluntly told her. “Are you sure you even went somewhere sunny? You haven't got a tan.”

“I was only outside for the first few days,” Chloé said, pressing her cheek further into the pillow, inching closer until her forehead was against Marinette's shoulder. “Then I started getting dizzy and shit, so I didn't go in the pool or anything. For once, sunbathing seemed like a bad idea.”

There was worry in her voice as she asked, “Did you go to a doctor?”

“Yeah, already went,” Chloé confirmed with a sigh. “Nothing, again. Maybe I'm depressed.”

“Depression doesn't make you dizzy,” Marinette denied. “I think.”

Chloé snorted. “You're the smart one of us both.”

She gasped. “Maybe you do have a fever! You'd never willingly insult yourself.”

“It's okay if it's with you,” Chloé replied, trying hard not to laugh. “No one will believe you.”

“...I thought you were going to flirt with me.”

“I am.” Chloé emphasised that by adjusting her leg, making it go further hers until they were thigh-to-thigh. The only difference was that Marinette had trousers on, unlike Chloé's poor decision to wear shorts to bed. “How does this make you feel?”

She admitted, “Concerned that you're going to faint.”

Chloé laughed. “I'll only do that if you shock me by actually kissing me first.”

“I've kissed you first before!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah?” Chloé questioned, opening her eyes to grin at her. “Do it.”

Marinette narrowed her own. “You're goading me.”

Chloé's smile grew. “Am I?”

“I'm not kissing a sick person.”

“You can't pass depression on with a kiss,” Chloé pointed out.

“I don't think you're depressed,” she denied.

Chloé dramatically put a hand to her forehead as she demanded, “Kiss away my sadness, Marinette.”

“...No.”

Chloé tutted. “Pussy.”

“What if your parents walk past?” she whispered, gesturing towards the door. “I left it open! What if they came up and told us off for keeping it closed? I can't look your parents in the eyes and not see their judgement, okay. I'm already finding it hard to try and function normally.”

Chloé reached out and flicked the end of her nose. “Shut up.”

“Hey!” Marinette exclaimed.

“You're worrying about stupid shit,” Chloé chastised, fondness clear in her tone. “You should be thinking about me right now, not anyone else.”

She stared. “Are you jealous?”

There was no shyness as Chloé stated, “I want all of your attention.”

“You've got it,” she assured her. Then, after a moment had passed, she amended, “Well, most of it. I'm always thinking about something else when I shouldn't be.”

Chloé sounded fed up as said, “Can you just shut up and kiss me?”

“To pass on your illness?” she questioned. “I don't think so.”

Chloé was the one to kiss her.

She didn't push her away.

They kissed until she yawned.

Marinette woke up a few hours later still fully dressed in bed, sweating. She pulled off her jumper before cringing at how her clothes were sticking to her.

Chloé was still asleep.

It was still light outside. The open curtains made it so she could see Chloé's complexion against the dark covers on the bed, noticing that she looked considerably better than she had earlier. The darkness under her eyes was barely there any more.

Marinette reached out and touched them to make sure that Chloé hadn't put make-up on when she was asleep.

There wasn't any.

It was curious.

And when Chloé woke up later, stretching her arms over her head and claiming that it was her first good sleep in a while, the first thing she asked was, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I finally had my beauty sleep,” Chloé answered with a lazy grin. “How'd you feel about ordering takeaway? I'd rather stay up here with you than go down to my parents.”

“If you order, I'll tell them that we're getting delivery,” she offered.

Chloé gave her a thumbs up.

Her parents had no problems with that plan.

They stayed in Chloé's bed with the large television that was mounted on the wall turned on. The sound was on low so they could talk as they slowly ate. Marinette's chest felt warm with happiness when Chloé served her first, messily scooping her favourites onto her plate without asking first.

Chloé's way of showing affection was either filled with confidence or a bit clumsy and she couldn't decide which one she liked more. There was more than Chloé smiling when their eyes met; it was the brush of their hands and helping each other out, knowing more than they would've if they'd only just met.

It was fourteen years of knowing each other helping them out.

“Not feeling dizzy?” she questioned when they'd slumped back against the pillows with the intention of staying awake that time. Marinette had propped them up against the headboard to make it so they had to sit up. “You're looking better.”

“No dizziness,” Chloé confirmed, turning her head quickly side-to-side.

Marinette stayed the night.

She was used to using Chloé's shower. Unlike the one they shared at the flat, Chloé could go to another one to shower at the same time. When she came out dressed in borrowed clothes—not trousers, as they would be far too long—Chloé got up from where she'd been sat on the end of the bed, crossing the room to embrace her.

Marinette smiled and leaned into her chest. “What are you doing?”

The answer to that was, “Seeing if my shampoo smells good on you.”

She laughed.

And when she leaned back enough to look at her, Marinette asked, “Did you dry your hair already?”

Chloé blinked. “What?”

“Your hair's really shiny,” she remarked, reaching out to touch it. The texture was as soft as it looked; shiny and luxurious in a way that usually meant that she'd been to the salon. “Did you use something new?”

Chloé slowly replied, “I haven't showered yet.”

“Eh?”

“I haven't showered since I got back,” Chloé clarified, furrowing her brow. “My hair should be greasy as fuck right now. You know it always gets gross real fast.”

Marinette lifted her head up to touch the roots, surprised. “No, it seriously feels really clean.”

Chloé did the same. “The fuck?”

“New product?” she asked.

“No, seriously,” Chloé replied, looking down at her fingertips in confusion. “I didn't have anything new. I—well, I skipped showering the day we flew back because I felt so shitty.”

Marinette frowned. “You sure?”

Chloé scoffed. “Am I sure about my shower schedule?”

“I'm just saying,” she started, gesturing towards Chloé's shiny hair. “This really doesn't look like three day old hair. It looks really, really good.”

Chloé wandered over to the full-length mirror she had by her wardrobe to inspect it.

“Fucking weird,” Chloé murmured, leaning closer to inspect her roots.

And with that, Chloé went off to shower, her hair looking the same after it dried.

-x-

“This is so stupid,” Chloé complained, throwing her bag down on the floor without a care. It was one of the days she didn't have to carry her laptop into university, thankfully. “I'm usually the one that doesn't pull my fucking weight, but no. I'm practically the team leader right now and I _hate_ it.”

Marinette hummed, making the appropriate noise to show she was interested. “What happened?”

“What happened,” Chloé started, slumping on the sofa with a dramatic flair. “One person's cat just died, the other was too hungover to concentrate, and the last dude is plain fucking useless. He stutters out everything, so he won't be doing the presentation for us.”

“Studying didn't go well, then,” she remarked.

Chloé ran a hand through her hair, pulling it out of the neat braids. “Not at all.”

“Were you over at their place?” Marinette questioned, standing on her toes to reach up into the second shelf of the cupboard to get two mugs.

“Yes,” Chloé confirmed in a mutter.

“Not the incense people?” she asked. “You never come back smelling like that any more.”

“They're the ones that dropped out,” Chloé replied, so matter-of-factly like they were talking about the weather.

The suspicious part was that Chloé hadn't mentioned that before—not their specific identities. Chloé had liked hanging out with them, so much so that she'd take hours to return at first before the ordeal with the blood.

She swallowed. “They are?”

“Yeah,” was all she got in response to that.

“Have you—did you message them about that?” she asked, putting the kettle on.

“That's the weird part,” Chloé said, adjusting the pillow behind her head to get more comfortable. “It's not like it's just one of them, but all four deactivated their accounts and changed numbers, so there's no way to reach them.”

She paused, not looking up from the mugs. “What?”

“Makes you think they're running from something, no?” Chloé let out a laugh that wasn't sincere. “Good riddance, I guess. Fuck them.”

It was such a change in attitude. “You liked them before.”

There was no anger in her voice as she said, “Well, that was before they drugged me.”

Marinette turned her head fast enough to make her hair move. “What?”

“That night,” Chloé started, leaning back so her head was pressed against the top of the sofa, looking at Marinette from an angle. “I was with them.”

“The—with the blood?” she stuttered out.

Chloé held her gaze. “Yeah.”

“But—” Marinette swallowed. “There wasn't—the drug report said there wasn't anything in your system.”

Chloé replied, “It also said that I wasn't injured, but I got a call that they'd identified all the blood as mine.”

It was something that she hadn't been told before.

It didn't—

“How does that make _sense_?” she exclaimed.

“It doesn't,” Chloé agreed, focusing on her hair as she idly started to braid it again, distracting her slightly. It was an avoidance tactic she always did when she was somewhat nervous. “And I barely remember what happened. It was—everything's hazy. That's not normal either.”

She poured the water from the kettle with shaky hands.

“I'm not mad,” Chloé said without prompting.

“I never thought that,” Marinette replied, her voice quivering with the last word. “But Chloé, it doesn't—”

“I know it doesn't make sense,” Chloé snapped, interrupting her. “Why do you think I never fucking said anything?”

She didn't know how to reply to that.

So, she didn't. There was silence in the room as she went about making their drinks, each movement slower than it would usually be. Although she knew that Chloé wasn't looking at her, she felt like she was on the spot to perform her actions perfectly.

How was she supposed to react to such a confession?

All of the evidence had pointed to nothing happening, and yet, the news that the blood had all been Chloé's was bizarre. She hadn't been dizzy from blood loss, had no wounds on her body, and—

Marinette blurted, “They weren't, like, stealing your blood every time you went over there, right?”

Chloé snorted. “No, I was totally conscious all the time.”

“Are you _sure_?”

“I'm not a fucking idiot,” Chloé muttered, accepting the offered mug to her after sitting upright, letting the extra pillow fall down onto her lap. “I've—I remember all the other times I've been there, okay? It's that one time that it's hazy, but I'm completely certain that I didn't have any alcohol or anything.”

“I'm not saying I don't believe you,” Marinette started, sitting down beside her. “But I don't believe you.”

Chloé scoffed. “Thanks.”

“It doesn't add up!” she exclaimed, almost jostling her drink from moving her hand along with her words. “It—”

“Look, I didn't tell you so you can analyse every little thing and call me an idiot,” Chloé grumbled, holding her mug with both hands. “Move on, I don't want to talk about this any more.”

She whispered, “Chloé—”

“ _No_.”

“Okay,” Marinette agreed, tucking her legs underneath her and trying to get comfortable. “Want to vent about your class-mates some more?”

Chloé sighed. “Yes.”

“I'll listen,” she offered. “I am your therapist, after all.”

“Does that include kissing me?” Chloé questioned with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “Because that's kind of what I want right now.”

She blinked. “But I made drinks.”

“Too hot right now,” Chloé proclaimed, plucking the mug from Marinette's hands and putting them both of the coffee table. “I think they'll be cool enough after our session.”

She wrinkled her nose. “That sounds gross.”

Chloé raised her eyebrows.

“Really gross,” she continued, still disgusted. “I'm not kissing you now.”

They kissed a lot.

-x-

Marinette caught a cold.

Chloé grew irritable because she kept waking up to her coughing.

When she came home from classes with her throat burning, Chloé had bought a lot of medicine; syrup for sore throats, candies to temporarily relieve the pain, and so much more that the amount was over the top.

Chloé tried to play it off by saying, “It's to shut you up.”

Marinette beamed.

There was a distinct lack of kissing. She didn't want to pass on her cold, being careful not to share mugs or spoons, sitting apart when they watched something or were eating dinner together, and Chloé scoffed at her every time, thinking it was stupid.

“I'm not getting you ill,” she said, pointing at her. “You turn into a big baby and cry that your make-up comes off whenever you blow your nose.”

“It's not like I'm wrong,” Chloé replied.

“I'm saving my brain cells,” she declared. “I'm not being around you when you're sick. It drives me mad.”

Chloé rolled her eyes. “Tell me how it is, why don't you?”

“You're a cry baby,” she accused.

“I never cry around you,” Chloé denied.

“You do,” Marinette corrected. “It makes your mascara come off and you look dreadful.”

Chloé gasped. “How dare you.”

“It makes you look like you don't have eyelashes—”

She got a pillow to the face for that.

It was worth it.

With the passing days, there was something strange going on. Chloé started to look more haggard, as though she was the one that was sick—hair that was greasy at the roots despite her showering, a pale tint to her skin, and bags that shouldn't have been there under her eyes.

Chloé had been staying in at night, making sure that she was taking her medicine on time.

“Did I keep you up?” Marinette asked, gesturing towards Chloé's face.

Chloé frowned. “No?”

“You look... terrible,” she said, wincing at her choice of word. “Do you feel okay?”

“I'm fine?” It came out sounding like a question. Chloé touched her cheek and asked, “Do I really look that fucking bad? I haven't even brushed my teeth yet.”

She had to cough in her hand before she could reply. “Yeah, you do.”

Chloé wasn't sat right beside her to put distance between them. “It's my old age catching up to me.”

“You're eighteen,” Marinette said.

Chloé sighed. “Woe is me.”

“That's not how this works,” she insisted.

“I can feel the wrinkles forming already,” Chloé complained, touching her face with both hands with an exaggerated pout. “How is it fair that you look like a fetus and I _don't_?”

She replied, “You've always hated my baby face.”

“I like it on you,” Chloé corrected with a haughty tone. “It would look shit on me. No one wants to look like a sexy baby, Marinette. That's just asking for trouble.”

With a laugh, she said, “I think you're sick.”

“I'm sick and tired of you treating me like this,” Chloé accused, letting her hands fall down to her side dramatically. “You're supposed to love and cherish me, not say that I look like shit.”

“Would you rather I lie?” she asked.

Chloé's response to that was, “Fuck off.”

“That's what I thought,” she mused.

It didn't get any better from there.

Chloé braided her hair and shoved a cute hat on top of it to try and hide her roots, but there was the problem with her face. Upon closer inspection after she'd showered and gotten ready for the day, Chloé was borderline distraught when she noticed that her lips were chapped.

It was like the end of the world for her.

“There, there,” Marinette said, patting Chloé's back and sitting down beside her. “My lips are the same, see? We can be one of those gross matching couples that you always complain about.”

Chloé lamented, “That doesn't make me feel better _at all_.”

“I have good lip balm,” she offered.

“I don't want your cheap shit,” Chloé said with a pointed sniff. “I doubt it's even tinted.”

“Why would I want it to be tinted?” she asked.

“You're so lucky you look like a baby,” Chloé grumbled, getting up and wandering to her room. After a few minutes, she came back out with a little tin of lip balm that had a foreign language on the front. “I saved this from when I went skiing last.”

“...That's nice?”

Chloé didn't wait for an answer before applying it to her lips and using the same finger to smear it over Marinette's.

“Hey!” she exclaimed.

Chloé huffed. “Clearly, yours wasn't working well.”

“I forgot to put it on today,” she defended.

“And you say I look like shit,” Chloé muttered. “What a hypocrite.”

“I don't care about my appearance as much as you—”

Chloé interrupted to inform her, “I saw you looking at your ass in the mirror yesterday.”

Marinette frowned. “No, you didn't.”

“I did.”

“I was looking at the length of my nightdress,” she corrected.

Chloé waved her hand dismissively. “Same thing.”

“It's really not,” she denied.

“Yeah, sure,” Chloé said, putting the tin of lip balm in her pocket. “I'm going to put my make-up on and go to class. You need any more of that medicine shit on my way back?”

Marinette smiled. “I'm okay, thanks.”

Chloé came back hours later with food, energy drinks, and more medicine.

It was a little touching.

The following day, Marinette felt better. Her nose was clear, she could breathe properly, and her cough wasn't as chesty any more. She rolled out of bed with a spring in her bed, only to stop in her tracks at the sight of Chloé huddled in a blanket on the kitchen sofa, already up with a steaming mug in her hands.

“You're up early,” she remarked.

Chloé replied, “I got woken up by my class-mate panicking about our presentation not being good enough. I told him to fuck off.”

She snorted. “Well, good morning to you.”

“Yeah, no,” Chloé muttered.

Somehow, she looked worse than before. It was obvious that she hadn't showered yet from some of the make-up that was smeared under her eyes, having not been taken off properly the night before, and the greasy hair didn't help her. There was something odd about seeing Chloé look so dreadful when she normally put so much care into her appearance.

“My hair's fucking greasy again,” Chloé complained, running her hands through it before pulling a face. “And I have a fucking spot on my chin. Can you believe it?”

“You never get those,” she remarked, touching the kettle to see if it was still warm. “Did you forget to do your skin treatment last night?”

There was no denying that Chloé was sulking. “I did it.”

“Maybe do it again,” she suggested, wincing at her lack of tact. And when she wandered over with her own drink, she had to say, “You look even worse than before.”

“This is karma,” Chloé said, slumping and resting her head on Marinette's shoulder, closing her eyes. “For all those times I laughed at ugly people. Some old witch cursed me to suffer their fate.”

“...You're not cursed,” she slowly replied.

“Might as well be,” Chloé said under her breath. “It would explain all the weird shit happening to me—you know, the whole drugging and being covered in my own blood thing. I'd be convinced that was a nightmare if they didn't fuck off and disappear the day after.”

“Wait, what?” Marinette blurted. “You never said that.”

“What?” Chloé echoed.

She exclaimed, “That they left after!”

“How did you not realise that?” Chloé questioned, lifting her head up to look at her incredulously. The red mark on her chin was visible from the short distance. “It's not my fault you can't do simple addition.”

She tried to protest, “That's not even—”

“Dumbass,” Chloé accused.

She pouted.

Chloé's gaze fell to her mouth.

And for the first time in over a week, they were kissing. Marinette clumsily took her mugs and put them on the coffee table, wrapping her arms around Chloé's neck and leaning into her. They were chest-to-chest, close enough to feel her breath on her skin, and the warm feeling becoming apparent in her chest was more than welcome.

There was something so wonderful about being the centre of Chloé's attention.

For someone that was so flighty, Marinette seemed to be the exception to all the rules. Chloé had flittered from group to group with friends, only sticking to her and keeping her close for all the years that they'd known each other.

And when they pulled apart, Marinette murmured, “I think I need some of that lip balm.”

Chloé's laughter was breathy.

The strange part came when they parted, both red-faced with somewhat shy smiles—well, Marinette's was shy while Chloé looked smug that she'd finally gotten what she'd wanted. Chloé was holding her hand, fingers linked together as her other went into her pocket to retrieve the little tin that she'd been carrying around obsessively, using on the both of them at every chance she could.

Marinette stared at her lips, noticing the red colour that was entirely her fault and not the tint of the lip balm.

“Your—” Marinette started, cutting herself off in confusion. Her next words came out sounding like a question. “Your spot is gone?”

“Are you trying to be funny?” Chloé demanded.

“No, seriously,” she said, gesturing wildly to Chloé's face. “It's—there's nothing there.”

Chloé touched her chin in suspicion.

And when she noticed that there was no lump after smoothing over it with her fingertip, her eloquent statement was, “What the fuck?”

Marinette leaned in closer, remarking, “And your lips aren't chapped.”

“Fuck off,” Chloé replied, though there was no heat in her words. After touching her mouth, she had a more calm response of, “That kind of makes sense, I guess.”

“It kind of doesn't,” she denied, pointing to her own. “Mine are still dry, and yours were, like, _cracked_.”

Chloé handed her the tin, demanding that she put it on.

Marinette complied, smearing it over her lips that definitely weren't in as sudden good condition as Chloé's.

“What's next?” Chloé scoffed, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “I've been lifted from my curse because of true love's kiss?”

She beamed. “You love me?”

“That is _not_ what I said,” Chloé spluttered.

Marinette leaned in closer, making it so their noses were almost touching. “I think you love me.”

It was the closest Chloé had looked to being embarrassed for a while. “Why else would I put up with you for so long?”

Her chest felt warm. “You love me.”

“Okay, you can stop saying it,” Chloé muttered, averting her eyes. There was a redness to her face that wasn't because of them kissing. “I'm not into this sappy shit, you know that.”

“I know that you love me,” she said, singing out the words.

Chloé wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

“You don't think I'm gross at all,” she persisted, pressing a chaste kiss to Chloé's lips.

Chloé wasn't having that.

They ended up making out again, kissing each other breathless until Chloé's phone chimed with the alarm that her class was in fifteen minutes. They parted with some reluctance, Marinette climbing out of her lap and smoothing out Chloé's hair to try and make her look presentable.

“You haven't showered, but your hair's soft again,” she mused, feeling the blonde strands beneath her fingertips.

Chloé's hands went straight to her roots, confused. “The hell?”

She shrugged.

“It was definitely dirty,” Chloé muttered, bewildered as she inspected her fingertips. There was no grease there at all. “Maybe I am going mad.”

“It was gross,” Marinette confirmed.

Chloé narrowed her eyes. “You're gross.”

She beamed. “And you're grossly in love with me.”

“Absolutely _not_ ,” Chloé said, aghast.

“I love you, too,” she said, smiling wide.

Chloé pretended to gag.

-x-

There was something strange going on.

“I think I really am cursed,” Chloé said, staring down at her hands in bewilderment.

As much as Marinette wanted to deny it, she sounded utterly confused as she replied, “Maybe.”

“ _Maybe_?” Chloé exclaimed. “You're only going to say maybe?”

“Well,” she started, cutting herself off as she ran her fingers through her hair. “I don't know... what to say.”

“So fucking helpful,” Chloé muttered under her breath.

It started when Marinette had gone back home for her mother's birthday. Although it was only for the weekend, Chloé had to stay to finish her assignments with her class-mates, grumbling the whole time that she couldn't believe her luck. To her ire, it had been sprung on her at the last minute.

Marinette had text her the whole time, the two of them speaking on the phone before bed and when they woke up. It was a lot more than when they'd been apart before, though there was the added benefit of Chloé acting shy when she professed her love to her.

That was a nice development.

However, coming home to Chloé looking like she hadn't slept in days wasn't.

“I showered this morning,” Chloé said, pointing to her hair. “And then again because I thought I might've forgotten to wash my fucking hair, but no. It's stuck like this.”

Marinette frowned.

“And I've got a spot on my tit this time,” Chloé continued on, pulling down her shirt to point to it. “My _tit_ , Marinette. Do you know how humiliating this is? My wardrobe isn't prepared for this kind of thing. I had to borrow your turtleneck to meet up with people earlier.”

“My turtleneck?” she questioned.

“It was too small!” Chloé exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “I looked like I'd put on weigh or something!”

“Oh, no,” she said, emotionless. “That would've been bad.”

Chloé narrowed her eyes. “You're not taking me seriously.”

She admitted, “I'm still mesmerised that I look better than you right now.”

Childishly, Chloé stomped her foot. “Focus!”

“Right, sorry.” Marinette blinked. “What do you—what are you expecting me to do?”

Chloé demanded, “Tell me I'm not going mad.”

“I mean... you might be?” she trailed off, offering an uncertain smile. And when Chloé glared at her more, she lamely added on, “At least you're not experiencing it alone. I'm as mad as you.”

“That's not reassuring at all.”

“Maybe there's a gas leak and we're hallucinating,” Marinette mused.

Chloé scoffed. “Not how that works.”

“Something is clearly happening,” she replied, putting her hands on her hips. “And it's happening to both of us. I'm going through the options, okay? Next up is we're both being dosed with drugs for an experiment.”

That earned her a moment of silence.

Then, Chloé let out a long sigh.

It might've been a little deserved.

Chloé blinked before putting a hand up to her forehead. “I feel dizzy.”

Marinette fumbled to get her something sugary, fetching a boiled sweet that had been tucked away in an open packet in the drawer.

Chloé took it without complaining.

And as she sucked on the sweet, Chloé said, “This is the third time this has happened now.”

“I—what?” she asked.

“This whole... thing,” Chloé said, gesturing to all of her. “Looking gross and feeling dizzy. It happened more than once, so I can't just write it off as being a fluke.”

Marinette frowned. “When did you last feel dizzy?”

Chloé mumbled, “When you were sick.”

“You never said!” she exclaimed.

“You were already dying,” Chloé explained, twirling some of her long hair around her finger. “I could deal with that shit alone. Besides, I didn't catch your cold.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes. “That's not the point! I would've—”

“Tried to look after me?” Chloé interrupted. “Chill, I survived, didn't I?”

“Clearly not very well if you're suffering from it again,” Marinette pointed out, not quite as smug as she would've liked to be. “Who did you annoy to get cursed?”

“Oh, everyone,” Chloé said with a laugh. “I wouldn't be surprised. Someone could've been jealous of my beauty and cursed me to be a swamp monster because of it.”

She breathed out. “You don't look like a monster.”

“I sure feel like one.”

“You being ridiculous aside, is this—are the symptoms the same?” Marinette asked, trying to see if there was anything that she hadn't seen yet. The pale skin, greasy hair, and chapped lips hadn't changed since she'd stepped into the room. “You look as bad as the other times.”

“I guess?” Chloé replied, uncertain. “I don't think I had fucking spots the first time, but knowing my luck, they might've been somewhere I couldn't see.”

It didn't make sense. The redness of her skin where a spot was shouldn't have healed in a matter of seconds from the last time, yet both of them could confirm that it had happened.

Marinette reached out and pulled Chloé's shirt further down to see her breast.

It was still there.

“So forward,” Chloé teased.

Her face felt hot. “Stop.”

“I'm trying to make sexy of the situation,” Chloé mused. “I deserve something good in my life right now.”

“That's me in general, not just me pulling your shirt down,” she muttered.

Chloé winked at her. “That's an added bonus.”

“You definitely showered already?” she asked, leaning in and feeling a bit weird about taking a sniff. There was the scent of Chloé's shower gel; the pungent fruity scent that always followed her for a few hours after she'd been in there. Without waiting for a verbal response after that, Marinette continued on to say, “But it—your hair looked better, like, instantly before.”

Chloé grimaced as she touched it. “Not right now.”

She swallowed.

Chloé was the one to demand, “Give me true love's kiss again.”

“That can't be it!” she protested.

“Try me,” Chloé said, leaning down and puckering her lips on purpose. And when Marinette didn't move, she scoffed. “Come on, loser. I'm not a fucking frog.”

“I'm feeling very pressured right now.”

Chloé kissed her instead.

It didn't stop at a chaste one.

It was to make up for her weekend away; with Chloé holding her close with her hands tangled in her hair, holding her in a way that Marinette wouldn't had dared to dream about when they'd only used to steal innocent kisses at sleepovers from being curious.

The only curious thing about the current situation was that when they pulled away, Chloé looked freshly showered.

Her hair wasn't wet, of course, but the roots were no longer greasy and the strands were glossy and shiny. Her lips weren't chapped and the bags underneath her eyes were gone, so she was back to looking healthy and young without make-up on.

Marinette gawked.

Chloé touched her face. “What?”

“ _You_ —”

Chloé ran to the nearest mirror.

She heard a cry of joy. “Yes!”

Marinette was bewildered.

-x-

It was bizarre.

None of it made sense, yet with further testing, it was kissing that cleared up Chloé's appearance. At first, neither of them were willingly to believe it despite seeing it with their own eyes, and it was Marinette that came to the conclusion that it was the period between their last kisses that had caused Chloé's illness to flare up.

She refused to say that it was a curse.

That was preposterous, so utterly insane—and yet, that's what the situation was, wasn't it? There was nothing logical about Chloé's clean hair appearing to be dirty until they locked lips.

It had to be more than a peck.

Marinette almost had a meltdown. “It doesn't make any sense!”

Chloé shrugged. “So, stop thinking about it.”

“ _Stop_?” she questioned, incredulous.

“Nothing's going to happen from you having a breakdown,” Chloé pointed out, talking evenly and checking her nails for dirt as though the topic was beneath her. “Come here and give me a top-up. I don't want to suddenly look homeless in the middle of class.”

She frowned. “That's offensive.”

“Fuck off, I don't care right now,” Chloé retorted, going as far as reaching out to tug on Marinette's wrist to bring her closer. “Either kiss me here or outside my classroom. I'll make a big scene about it.”

Marinette winced. “Here.”

Chloé tapped her lips, waiting.

She gave in.

The strangest part of it all was that Chloé's injuries healed after they kissed. The spots that had appeared from lack of contact were gone in an instant, and when Chloé had fallen over and scrapped her knee—to her embarrassment—Marinette felt like she was going to faint afterwards when there was only smears of blood left on the skin.

Chloé's blasé reaction hadn't helped. “Huh, look at that.”

She made a wounded noise.

At that point, Marinette was at the verge of accepting anything.

She'd thought the biggest obstacle would be for Chloé to take her feelings seriously, not for there to be something supernatural going on.

“I liked it more when you panicked about being gay,” she lamented, pressing her face into her pillow.

“I didn't panic,” Chloé denied. “I had to find out, that's all.”

“Find out?” she questioned.

“Well, I wanted to see what the deal was about sex,” Chloé replied nonchalantly. “And I did.”

She lifted her head up quickly. “What?”

“What?” Chloé answered back, raising her eyebrows. “Did you just tune that out before?”

“ _What_?” she repeated.

“I told you?” Chloé answered, a bit baffled. “Before?”

Her voice came out high-pitched. “You did _not_.”

“I did,” Chloé insisted, sounding a bit irritated. “Or do you never listen to me any more?”

She squinted. “When?”

Chloé replied, “When we took my dad's wine and got hammered before we moved in?”

It didn't ring any bells.

“I was drunk,” she answered quietly.

“Oh,” was all Chloé said for a moment. Then, after clearing her throat, she added on, “Well, I told you it was shitty. It was the night before when I went out with some friends? He came onto me and I thought I'd go out with a bang, literally.”

She could only stare.

“Marinette,” Chloé said, putting a hand on top of her dark hair and ruffling it. “It was shit.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Please, stop saying that.”

“Kissing you is much better,” Chloé assured her. “Even more so now I know you have magic lips.”

She sniffed. “We don't know if it's my lips.”

“Even if it isn't, I don't want it from anyone else,” Chloé replied matter-of-factly, filled with confidence that backed up her feelings for her. “I'm not, like, going to grab some random person to kiss because I fell over—”

And when Chloé cut herself off, Marinette asked, “What?”

Chloé lifted up the duvet to look down at her legs. “How much do you think it would heal?”

“Pardon?”

“That blood,” Chloé started, sounding so quiet compared to being so sure of herself only moments ago. “That night—that was my own blood, but I didn't have any injuries.”

She swallowed. “Your foot was injured.”

“Yeah, _after_ walking home!” Chloé exclaimed, throwing the duvet off to sit up. “When I woke up, I just felt—wet? I had no idea how I got on the road or—”

“Road?” Marinette exclaimed.

Chloé winced. “Yeah, road.”

“Why do you keep not saying these things?” she complained, pushing her hair away from her face. “Okay, let's—let's think about this seriously. You weren't—there was no evidence left. No one assaulted you.”

Chloé frowned. “Think of my _lips_.”

“They can't test your lips.”

“Well, they would've if I died,” Chloé muttered. “Maybe.”

She breathed out audibly. “You're not dead.”

“Maybe I should be with the amount I bled?” It came out sounding like a question. “Let me get a knife and we'll test this—”

“What? No!” Marinette yelled, pulling on Chloé's wrist to keep her on bed when she made a move to leave. “Your knees healed from—from one kiss. I don't think we should test the limits of something like that.”

“I want to know what my freaky body can do,” Chloé demanded.

It turned out that it could do something more.

Chloé hadn't listened to her and ran to the kitchen to grab a knife—ignoring her shouts not to do anything stupid—and when she'd cut into the skin of her arm, the cut healed over instantly.

They stared at each other.

Chloé wisely put down the knife, holding her hands up in surrender. “Well, that's was weird.”

“Weird?” Marinette exclaimed, close to tears. “That's all you have to say?”

“Sorry?” It didn't sound sincere. “I didn't—I didn't think you'd react like this.”

“You thought I'd be totally fine with seeing you cut yourself?” she shouted, outraged. “Don't be—that's so _stupid_! I hate seeing you hurt as it is!”

Chloé pouted. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“Not go straight for the knife?”

“It seemed like a good idea,” Chloé protested.

“There's less extreme ways to test it!” she retorted, angrily wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Like—what if I... gave you a hickey?”

Chloé blinked.

She averted her eyes, embarrassed.

Then, there was smugness in Chloé's voice as she said, “You could just say that you want to get down and dirty with me.”

“That's not it!” Marinette denied, face starting to feel hot from more than anger. “It's—that would heal, wouldn't it? It's so much safer than letting you do whatever you want—”

“Yeah, but if it's your kisses that do this to me, would it count elsewhere?” Chloé asked.

She paused at that. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Chloé agreed. “I'm the smart one now.”

“Shut up, that's never been you,” Marinette muttered.

Chloé grinned, pointedly brushing her hair over her shoulder to say, “You can give me a hickey anyway. I might be into it.”

She glared.

-x-

“Google says you're possessed,” Marinette said.

Chloé snorted. “By what?”

“A sex demon.”

The laughter from Chloé was immediate. “What the fuck?”

“Well,” Marinette started, awkwardly turning her laptop screen around to show Chloé her findings. “You're... it's sexual contact that does it? We found out that kissing your cheek does nothing—”

Chloé protested, “It did something for my heart.”

“Your heart isn't possessed, shut up,” she replied, pointing towards the screen. “And this—it seems to be a common theme that your body gets more... beautiful with the more you consume.”

Chloé couldn't take anything seriously. “You think I'm beautiful.”

“Why else would I be with you?” she retorted. “Your personality is terrible.”

“I think you're a masochist, to be honest,” Chloé replied.

“That is _so_ not the point right now.” Marinette huffed. “I haven't seen much saying that you'll suffer withdrawal and get all gross like you do, but I doubt someone's going to write this all out of the internet. It's not very realistic.”

“I'm hoping for the gas leak theory now,” Chloé quipped. “It's nice that we're getting high together.”

She cleared her throat. “We should find out how long it takes you exactly until the withdrawal starts.”

“Not looking up how to exorcise me?” Chloé questioned.

“I don't think you're possessed,” Marinette blurting before wincing at her delivery. “I mean, it mentioned about personality changes and—and you're the same as ever? You're as horrible as you were before you got attacked.”

Chloé hummed. “Attacked, was I?”

“Someone stuck a demon on you, or whatever,” she lamely said. “And all that blood—”

“Where my feet didn't heal,” Chloé pointed out, pressing the laptop lid down so the device went to sleep and pushing it to the side. Then, without any warning whatsoever, she chose to sit down in Marinette's lap instead, wrapping arms around her shoulders and settling down despite Marinette's surprised noise. “I healed from all that blood, but not my feet.”

She swallowed. “I don't know what you want me to say.”

“The amount,” Chloé said, making it glaringly obvious that she was looking at her lips. “It barely lasted before I went out. You pushed me away.”

“So—”

Chloé grinned. “If I didn't do that, I might've died.”

Marinette glared. “That was still assault.”

“And I got assaulted in return—”

“You can't joke about that!” she exclaimed. “And you're heavy, get off.”

“I'm underweight for my height,” Chloé corrected her, haughtily raising his chin. “You're so weak that you find it hard to pick up our frying pan one-handed.”

She defended, “It's heavy.”

Chloé cleared her throat. “My point is unless you make out with me on a regular basis, I might die.”

She stared.

“I might!” Chloé insisted. “Who knows what could happen? I want to walk away from a car crash without a scratch like I'm from _Twilight_.”

“...You've never even watched that.”

Chloé waved her hand dismissively. “You're focusing on the wrong things.”

“So are you!” she replied.

“If we have a fight, I could die,” Chloé said.

“No, you'll get ugly,” Marinette mumbled.

“And be so dizzy I can't get out of bed,” Chloé added on smugly. “That means our make-up sex will have more meaning than for everyone else.”

“...You're terrible,” she accused.

Chloé winked at her.

Two days was the limit before Chloé's appearance started to change. It didn't matter how many times she showered or washed her hair, the grease wouldn't disappear. From closer inspection, the softness of Chloé's skin went down, too, unchanged by the creams and lotions that she used, though that should've been expected alongside the dark circles underneath her eyes.

It was a slow and steady decline that got worse with every passing day.

Marinette gave in and kissed her after the first two days had passed.

Then, it was a week off that they decided to test it further. They planned to laze around in their flat instead of going home to visit their parents, buying enough groceries to keep them inside long enough to see the effects alone.

It wasn't Chloé getting dizzy because she stood up too fast. It appeared whether she was sitting or standing, her vision turning hazy and she zoned out of the conversation for a while before snapping back, vocally annoyed about how her body was betraying her.

“I thought being possessed was supposed to be cooler,” Chloé complained.

“Cooler?” Marinette questioned, incredulous. “Where did you get that from?”

“Well, in all those movies we watched, there was always more murder,” Chloé pointed out matter-of-factly. “I haven't been hungering after anyone's blood. Hell, I doubt I'm even a sex demon because I'm sure as hell not seducing you with my smile and sparkling skin.”

“...Chloé, that's Twilight again.”

Chloé shrugged. “Eh, same thing.”

“You're not a vampire,” Marinette said, putting her hands on Chloé's shoulders and looking into her eyes. “You do not have fangs and you hate rare meat.”

Chloé scrunched up her face. “You don't have to put it like that.”

“You're an idiot.”

The response to that was, “Only one of us can be smart.”

“And it's never been you,” Marinette informed her. “Sure you don't want to murder someone? That seems like it's up your alley.”

Chloé scoffed. “Violence is for stupid people.”

“...Right,” she replied, dubious.

“I've learned from my mistakes. Money is for smart ones,” Chloé stated, pushing Marinette's hands off of her. “I'll ruin them financially instead of leaving a bruise. That's more impactful, don't you think?”

“...Do demons think like that?”

Chloé winked. “This one does.”

“Please, don't refer to yourself like that,” she said, cringing. “It's gross.”

“Sorry, you're never allowed to break up with me,” Chloé said, reaching out and taking Marinette's left hand into their own and linking their fingers. “I'll literally die without you. That's practically marriage, isn't it?”

Marinette wisely pointed out, “We haven't even been dating a year yet.”

Chloé met her gaze and kissed her ring finger.

Her face felt hot.

Chloé's smile was all teeth. “It's a shotgun wedding, but instead of angry parents, it's the devil cheering us on.”

“I think you need to brush up on what a shotgun wedding actually is,” she muttered.

“That's something we can research together, then.”

She exclaimed, “We're not getting married!”

Chloé pointed out, “Not with that attitude, we're not.”

She sighed.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://xiueryn.tumblr.com) (*¯︶¯*)♥


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